Calliope wanders aboard. Niemec steers her in the right direction.
Location: Observation Deck
Related Scenes: None
Scene Number: 878
Calliope wanders onto the Observation Deck. And she is really wandering at the moment with the air of one who has no real idea where she is. She's dressed in duty blues, but the jacket's undone and they're rumpled in a way that looks almost like she slept in them. Or napped on them. Her hair's in a similar 'recently rolled out of bed' state with a lot of blonde flyaways, and she's wearing a pair of sunglasses. Indoors (and in space). They're lowered, just a notch, so she can better squint around the room she's just stumbled into. "Huh," she mutters to herself as she takes it in.
And there, within the Observation Deck, is someone looking much less rumpled. On one of the love seats sits Niemec. The woman is in off-duties; dual-tanks baring much of her tattoo work. Few outside of Tauron would have intricate tattoos on the side of their neck as she does. The woman has to be at least thirty, but is a touch petite for the navy. Likely just tall enough to meet pilot requirements. She's got one leg crossed over the other, balancing a book. She seems more focused on the page than the view. Then again, the Scorpion shipyards is taking up a fair bit of it. Still, one can see the star field. The room is quiet enough, however, that the new arrival isn't wholly unnoticed. The brunette's finger falls to mark her place on the page and she turns, taking Calliope in. "Lost?"
Calliope has, indeed, no neck tattoos. Or any visible tattoos, though with the uniform on it's hard to tell. Her attention, after some initial squinting as if the light is vaguely painful, flits to the window. Taking in the Scorpian shipyards from this angle. She's caught up enough in it that the question takes a second to penetrate. "Huh?" Squinty blink at Niemec. She looks /very/ tired. Or, less charitably, rather hung-over. "Oh. Hi." Her accent is pure Cap City girl. "I mean, not lost." The denial is just a smidge defensive. "I just got in and I was kind of...exploring. Getting my bearings. You know. This ship's frakking huge. It's like a city. Except...a ship."
On the other hand, Niemec's accent is strongly Tauran. Not an ex-pat. Pure, unbridled Tauran. Likely stubborn as frak and prone to tempers. It's how they all are, right? Not that the tattoo work likely helps. The woman shifts to grab a scrap of paper being used as a bookmark and places it between the pages of her book. It's closed, set aside on the loveseat, and the pilot leans forward. Her shoulders round as she drapes forearms over her thighs to give Calliope a long look. "It might as well be a city. There's a damned post office and barber around somewhere." A shadow of a grin crosses her features. "Most of us still get lost from time to time."
Calliope probably recognizes the accent. Or the tatts. Or the combination of them. Enough that she gives Niemec a tentative side-eye, from behind the sunglasses currently sitting on the bridge of her nose. The look is returned for a beat, before her eyes break and flit back to the windows. "Yeah. It's intense. You barely notice you're on a ship at all." She sounds leery of this. Her duffel bag is dropped on the floor, and she rummages around in her pocket for a pack of cigarettes and lighter. "Can we smoke here? Or is that against...Regulation Triple Z-Dash-Alpha or something?" She chuckles a little weakly at her own joke.
"Mmm. That feeling doesn't last long. Once you forget the time of day or even what day it is. Or once you find that itch at the back of your neck and realize it's because you haven't seen the sky." Niemec sits back, leg uncrossing and boot hitting the floor heavily. "You're free to smoke in here. Seen plenty do it." She folds her arms; as much for somewhere to put them as anything else. "Berthings are deck eight, if you haven't found your bunk yet."
"Deck eight?" It's repeated to help commit it to memory, for all that Calliope denied being lost. She nods to herself, as if to reinforce that mental note. "Got it. Thanks." She lights up, taking a quick puff. She at least blows it out away from Niemec. "I've done the spacer-life thing before. Flew between Caprica and Leonis on the regular. Smaller stuff than this, though. Freighters and liners. It's bizarre to imagine anyone flying something like this." She half moves to put the cigs back in her pocket, before looking to Niemec again. "You want one?"
"I was all planetary support until this. Sure, took a few jumps and recons in my raptor, but nothing long-term. I keep thinking I feel a breeze." Niemec snorts, faintly. Amused at herself. The woman looks past Calliope towards the view port, but her dark gaze returns when the cigarettes are offered. Pushing to her feet so that the ensign doesn't have move as far, she gives a quick upnod and reaches a hand out to accept one. "Sure, why not. Been a while."
"Sure." Calliope hands Niemec the pack. Holding her lighter up, to offer a light once the cig is retrieved. They're Leonis-brand smokes, though they aren't particularly fancy. The kind available in the convenience store of any spaceport on that planet. Another slight chuckle at Niemec's snort. Before she stalls the laugh. Was that a joke? She smokes some more. "I liked it. Made you feel like you were in your own little world while you were in transit. So you worked on Tauron before this?" Pause. "Or. You know. Wherever you're from." In case she made ASSUMPTIONS.
One is taken before the pack is offered back and she accepts the offer of a light. The motions make her tags jingle just a bit. Niemec straightens, taking a long drag on the cigarette held in her right hand. Her left? Tucks into her pocket. The woman exhales from the side of her mouth. "Tauron, aye." Another drag, gaze past Calliope towards the view port. She squints, just a bit. "SAR. Med evacs. That sort of thing. This is the first I've been posted to a cruiser... well I guess this is a wee bit more than a cruiser."
"Med evacs?" Calliope sounds a touch impressed. Or just overwhelmed by all the things. Hard to tell. "Cool. I was flying civilian transport. Not military." In case it wasn't very, very obvious. "I mean, I'm military now. Just got my official-like approval to fly Raptors for this thing." She half-smiles. And, then, suddenly remembers she hasn't actually introduced herself. "Oh! I'm Cal. Calliope. Drake. Ensign. Hi."
"Found I had a knack for it in academy." It comes easily from Niemec as she takes another drag on the cigarette. It's rolled between her fingers as she exhales. "Ensign? We haven't had many of those. You must have impressed someone to find yourself here." The brunette's gaze comes back to the taller ensign. "Antonie Niemec. Captain. Callsign Squeak."
"Yeah. I'm way impressive," Calliope snorts out a self-deprecating laugh. And some smoke. Now that she's working on the cig, she looks less pained by the indoor lights. If not much more relaxed. "Captain?" She brings up a hand as if to salute. It's the correct hand, at least. It's also the one that's currently holding her ciggie. Does she even need to salute in here? Half-way up, she seems to come to the conclusion that she doesn't, and it just turns into an awkward, finger-waggling wave. "Hi, sir, I guess."
"We're indoors," Niemec offers in a quiet, vaguely amused tone. She then gestures to herself, in the off-duty attire. Low-slung BDUs and the standard issue dual-tanks. "I'm also off the clock. You're good... Ensign." The last is added with a wry grin before the woman retreats the handful of feat to drop back onto the love seat she'd opted to occupy. "The Galactica and Athena are nothing small, Drake. They're supposed to win this war. All the colonies are watching us." Leg crosses again, boot bouncing a little as Antonie takes a long drag on the smoke. "Feel the pressure yet?"
Calliope is naturally inclined to slouch - tall as she is - but the last question makes her try to stand up straight. Her sunglasses are nudged back up her nose, so her eyes are fully behind them again. "I can deal with pressure. Sir." The statement's injected with bravado that doesn't sound super genuine.
This earns the Ensign a laugh. Niemec waves the hand with the cigarette, leaving curls of smoke curling towards the ceiling. Likely to be whisked away into a vent. "Relax, relax. I was joking." She shrugs. "Mostly." The cigarette is finished off and she puts it out against her boot. Janitorial staff will deal. The butt, at least, she holds onto. She'll dispose of that properly. "I suggest going out on the flight deck at some point. They've got brand new birds. Raptors and Vipers both."
Calliope makes a "Ha Ha" sound that doesn't really qualify as a laugh and smokes some more. "Yeah. I will. I'm supposed to be in processing and shit tomorrow but I should go take a look around." And make sure she can find it. "They put us in Vipers for some training sessions, but I didn't have much of a feel for them. They're so..." Pause, as she tries to find the right word. "...spindly. Like, there's not enough heft under you."
"Mmmm. I find the ego required makes me glad I stayed Raptor." Niemec might be joking there. Might not. The woman grabs her book again, but just sets it against her leg. "I like the versatility of the Raptor and the company of a backseater. You're never out there alone."
That does get a proper laugh from Calliope. "Yeah. The ECOs I trained with were tight. At least somebody's got your back, yeah?" She clears her throat. "I mean, not that I can't handle myself, but it was nice to have someone to talk to. Anyway. I should find those berthings. And the flight deck. Oh! And the showers. Do you know where the showers are?"
"Hey, no shame in relying on your ECO. Sure, we can do it all in a pinch, just like they can. But we're meant to be a team. No way I'm going to think I can handle DRADIS and pilot at the same time as effectively as each of us focusing on our own shit." Niemec shrugs, leaning back again. She gives a nod to the Ensign, before lips draw in a grin. "Deck eight. By the berthings. They don't want you stumbling too far for that midnight piss."
Calliope lets out another "Heh." "Good to know. Later. Sir. Thanks." Unclear for what. The directions, maybe? She hefts her bag and heads off to find the berths. Eventually.