2236-11-17 - This Ship is Small

It's another busy might in the Mess Hall. This time, with more parties. And Blue Food.

Date: 2236-11-17

Location: Mess Hall, Deck 8, //Galactica//

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 879

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After two days of straight adrenaline, it's been a relief to get a chance to breathe before they get called back out to the line. With the Taurans pulling back and letting Galactica take some of the work of their hands, its unlikely the lull of the past few weeks since she came aboard will ever come again. But for now, she's found herself a comfortable seat at a table, a tall glass of chocolate milk, and her crochet needles and thread. She seems to be working on yet another doily.

Oliver is not exactly someone that can sneak up on anyone. The whir and clunk of his cylon leg comes up from behind Eva. A little plate of Pumpkin Pie is sat down next to her milk, but not in the way of her crafting. Then comes a little grunt as he hoists his good leg over the bench so he can sit facing Eva. "You're too young to be making those things."

Eva looks up, her occasional RBF lightening as she catches sight of the big man, and she promptly scoots over to give him room on the bench, "Cookie!" She looks down at the doily, still grinning, "I started making them years ago. Used to sell them at the farmer's market with my Da. Old ladies love these things. And they're good for keeping my hands limber. He sends me the thread and I'll send him back a pile to sell. You staying?"

Oliver has his tray in his other hand which his gives a little indicative wave, "If you don't mind?" He's waiting for permission to join her to do just that. "Yes, they do love those things, my gran would churn them out by the dozens in like an hour. It was crazy watching her little hands go. Think you can make some good pot holders if you get the right yarn?" Cookie seems to have something in mind.

The thing about Oliver, is you always think you know how big he is, then it hits you. He's a big man. Eva scoots a bit further down, so he won't have to hang half off the edge of the bench, "No, you're always welcome to sit with me." She sets aside the needles, a finger reaching out to nudge the slice of pie on the crust side, "I made one for Niemec's raptor. Soon all the Taurans will want one." No, not really. "Oh sure. I can crochet, knit, embroider, crosstitch, and quilt. If it doesn't need a sewing machine, I can do it."

Oliver gets a bit more settled in and puts his tray down. With a chuckle he reaches over to scoop up her hand enough that he splays out her palm in the center of his palm with his hand splayed out. "If you can imagine, it's hard to find good pot holder and oven mitts..." He gives her a big grin that completely shatters his typical hard-ass visage. Hands are parted and he swivels at the waist to start tucking into his food. Today it seems like he doesn't believe in the time of day and correlating meal and he's got some breakfast, lunch and dinner on his tray. "How you doing Squirrel?" He might be a non-combative, but that doesn't mean he's out of the loop about what's going on.

Eva's hand looks like a child's on top of Oliver's and it coaxes another laugh, before she picks up the fork that was kindly provided and tucks into the slice of pie. She pauses, after the first bite. Another new flavour, but she smiles soon after. This is a success, "Oh, that shouldn't be any trouble. I'm sure I can get some material for you. Just tell me what sort of material you want. Cotton, or something heat resistant. I will figure out a way to order it." She works her way through about half of the slice, considering Oliver's question, "I'm still alive. Been on both missions since we got called to assist. Didn't take much damage, so I'm alright." She pauses, "Oliver, you...still remember how to be a Marine, don't you? I mean, you can still put the smackdown on someone couldn't you?" She doesn't ask that in a pandering sort of way, she's just trying to ask and be slightly humorous.

Oliver once more eats like he was raised with a big family of food stealers, and the Marines, "Can take the man out of the Marines, can't take the Marine out of the man." He smiles as his statement gets a marine call out from those around him that overheard. "See? Why do you ask? Someone in need of a smackdown?" One eyebrow cocks up and he lifts his head from his chow shoveling hunch.

The mess is busy, as per usual, with the traffic coming and going from the buffet line. A big man in duty greens sits at one of the tables noticeable for two reasons. First, the whirr and occasional scrape of a Cylon prosthetic foot, and also because he dwarfs the redhead woman sitting next to him. He's tucking into a full mess, the woman into a slice of pie. "Well," Eva offers, tucking into the rest of her slice of pie, with the occasional sip of chocolate milk, "I haven't quite decided yet." She pauses, considering how best to put this. "I have put up with a lot of shit, in my time." Mooners sort of do. "But sometimes I have to put my foot down."

Oliver spent a good hunk of his life being the one giving Mooner a lot of shit, so he nods sagely with understanding. He puts his fork down, but his other arm remains a fortress protecting the perimeter around his tray. He offers her his one hand. "Now don't go using this and getting into any trouble, but here, shake my hand..." Once her tiny hand is doing it's best to grip his like she was going to shake he puts his thumb under hers. "Get up over a thumb and use your thumb and nail and press down right here, right at the cuticle of the thumbnail. That'll throw'm off right off and then you use your hand to twist the thumb, then the wrist, then a few steps around him and you've got'm twisted, thumbnail to shoulder. It's a good move for a little thing like you. It'll even work on me."

Eli doesn't so much walk as shuffle in. He's wearing scrubs and a white lab coat, which is a pretty big flashing light to say that he just got off duty. The all-important coffee machine gets poked and prodded first, before he goes down the line. Each bit of food is met with a lip curl or a soft grunt. He ends up with a bowl of something that might be soup and an apple. He turns, tray in hand, and idly starts glancing around for a spot to sit.

Eva pays close attention, because, let's face it, even just looking at her, you can tell this is not a woman who would ever be mistaken for a marine. You can almost see her trying to commit each move to memory, before she nods, "I might have to have you show me that again, but not while you're eating." She looks up, craning her neck a bit to see if there's any pie left, which gets her a good eyeball on Eli. There's plenty of room at her table. "That's the new doc, one of them. He's from Sagitta...no, Scorpio...hell, one of the S ones. I called him an ***hat the last time we met."

Oliver sighs with one cheek pooched out while he chews up his latest bite. He's getting waved at by one of the line-cooks and swallows and immediately moves to stand up. "Duty's never done. Go get some more pie Squirel. Be nice to the Doc, I feed you, so you're nice to me, someday he might have his hands deep in your guts and you're going to want him to be motivated to heal you and not wear you as a hat, right?" Mmmm, surgery talk at the table, faux paux Oliver. "See you around Squee." He then lumber-thunks his way with his tray held up finally disappearing into the Galley.

Eli is not someone who feels like he needs to be liked. So it doesn't seem like he's going to sidle up and take a seat at the table of someone who he rubbed the wrong way. Instead, he sits down at the table next to hers. Hey, it's the only one that happens to be empty. The odd sound of Oliver's leg does create a curious look, but he's quickly back to minding his own business. It only takes a second for the doc to piece it together. Then he turns his attention to opening a little pack of crackers.

Eva mutters something under her breath to Oliver, before she watches him take off for the galley, turning back to Eva see the doctor approach, and pointedly sit down not at her table. Well, at least he won't ask to share the last scraps of her pie. "He doesn't mind you know." It's hard to be shy about something like that, though, isn't it? "I mean, it's just out thee in front of god and everybody. I had a chance to examine it." Eva pauses, considering, "Not all of it of course, because that would be quite a sight in the middle of the messhall, but the mechanics of it are amazing."

"Well, that's the thing about being a doctor. I don't have to be nosy. I can just look up his file," says Eli with a bit of a grin as he stabs crackers down into his soup. "I should read up on it, anyway. The maintenance of cybernetic limbs isn't exactly something I've had a lot of experience with. Not sure if we've got that particular skillset on staff. Might actually mean sitting down in an engineer." Soup slurrrp.

"And files tell you absolutely everything about a person? I wasn't aware that medical records did that. But then...I'm not a doctor." She, see was trying to be nice, but nope. She doesn't bother finishing the pie, instead returning to working on her doily, "Or just asking around until you find someone who actually does have the right skillset." She knits without much conscious effort, glancing down only occasionally to see where she is in the pattern. Clearly, this is one she's made quite often.

"No, but it would tell me about his prosthetic leg, which is the thing that made me look. My head didn't turn because I was interested in his haircut and what it says about him as a person." There's no venom in Eli's voice. He punctuates his statement with a shrug. "I'm sure he's a totally fascinating guy, by the way," he waggles his spoon.

"That wasn't really my point. Whether or not he, Brown, was fascinating. My point was, that a file won't tell you how he responds to the input from the leg. Or how he perceives his own sense of space and movement in relation to the artificial limb." A beat, "His haircut is terrible. Like most marines and former marines." That gets her a few glares from the marines around her and she shrugs, "What can I say? I like a thick head of hair." She returns to the doctor, "It also, as you noted, won't tell you much about the actual workings of the cybernetic leg itself, and how the inorganic part has adapted to its organic symbiote."

"It doesn't, but it would tell me how much of his leg is artificial and when he's had his last physical so I can ask him said questions," says Eli as he sticks a spoonful of soup in his mouth, eyebrows raising. He swallows. "I also try and avoid asking people about their medical history in public." He breaks off another cracker and sprinkles it in his bowl. "See, that's why I stayed away from the marines. I like my hair too much. That, and the shooting. Not a big fan of shooting."

"I'm sure you've run into this, Doctor, but as a general rule, most people I know don't like doctors, nurses, medics, or any of the other members of your professional circle. When they're faced with someone treating them like a patient, they have a tendency to clam up or to become defensive. Just ask my doctor every time she asks me the last time I stepped on a treadmill. Also, unless someone is sick, you probably won't see them in your medbay. You will see them in a place like this. So, sometimes you have to get down on their level and let them think you're just a little bit human." She sips her milk, "And then you flunk them out of Flight School. Or, in your case, put them on a restricted diet or give them mandatory physical exercise." Eva, despite the fact that she pretty much does shooting for a living, seems oddly sympathetic, "No one does. But we all have to learn to do it. It's easier to get your bearings on the range, especially if you haven't qualified for your service weapon."

"I find people like me just fine when I'm putting them back together," says Eli. "And I feel like you're jumping to an awful lot of conclusions about me. I know I'm not exactly cuddly, but with all due respect, you don't know anything about me." Again, he avoids sounding defensive. It's all stated quite matter-of-factly.

"I know what you present of yourself to the people around you, Doctor. If you want people to think differently of you, then give them something else to work with. Until that happens, people are just going to take you at face value." Eva lifts a hand, cutting off anything else she might have been about to say, "You know what, it doesn't even matter. You do you, Doc. I'm going to have more pie." Eva rises, picking up her used plate to buss it on the conveyor, before she heads off to to buffet to pick up a little bit of something else.

"Funny, but you seem to be the only one I've met so far who's jumped straight to such a negative opinion," says Eli. He does seem quite unperturbed by the whole thing. He watches her go towards the buffet, then shrugs and returns his attention to his soup.

Ryan strides into the mess hall. He nods greeting to a few crew members who 'sir' him on the way in, casting friendly smiles around. If it weren't for the pips on his green duty fatigues, he might've been mistaken for just another officer instead of the XO of the ship. "Mmm, is that pie I smell?" he wonders aloud as he grabs a plate and gets into line.

Eva looks, for a moment, as if she's about to actually reply to the bit of Eli's comment she can actually here, but then, no, not going to do it. She, instead, settles into line waiting at the dessert buffet. She glances over, at the word pie, seeing Ryan about half a dozen bodies down, "Pumpkin, sir. Which is supremely strange, as I've never eaten a non-savory pumpkin dish." She points to a single, lone, very lonely batch of jellied mixed fruit, which, the crew who were here for the building of the ship might have mentioned has been around a while, "However, I am willing to accept it's uniqueness...having considered the alternative."

Eli finishes off the rest of his soup, then stands up to bus his tray. He bites into his apple to hold it in his mouth while he sorts his dishes. Then he turns, take a proper bite out of his apple, chews, and mumbles, "Sir," to Ryan as he heads past. "Save some pie for the others, Thorne. Don't make me put you on a low pie diet." Apple crunch. He grins to himself as he ambles towards the exit.

Ryan nods to the passing Eli, smiling at his comment, then looks back at Eva. "Strange that it's savory or strange that it's not-savory, Captain?" he wonders, squinting a little at her description.

"Those are fighting words, Doctor." Eva when she finally gets to the pie, apparently decides against it. Who knows what else might be coming out of the galley. Instead, it's some of the fruit compote. "Strange that it's not savory. I mean, pumpkin goes in soup, or casserole, or gets cooked up with shrimp, if my Da's cooking for you." She steps out of the line,so that people can get hat they want, but stays close enough that she doesn't need to shout at the XO.

"Ah, I see. Well, I've always been a fan of pumpkin pie. Reminds me of autumn back home." Ryan shuffles forward as the line moves. "Captain... Thorne, was it?" Then, taking a moment to place the name, he says, "Wolfpack Viper squad?"

"Oh! Is it a Picon thing then? I have been having a lot of fun trying to identify or try to start putting together the idea of the different cuisines of the colonies." She nods, as the XO identifies her, "Yes, I came up from Virgon," though she sounds Hibernian more specifically. "Coming up towards the end of my tour, so what a better way to go out than this?"

"Well, where I come from anyway - not sure if I can claim Picon has sole ownership of such a delight," Ryan offers. He nods to her comment. "A high note, I'd say. Though I hope you won't be too anxious to be leaving us. Your obligation may be done, but we're going to need all the good pilots we can get to kick some Cylon ass."

Oliver comes lumbering out of the galley and has a chaffing dish with him. What is a bit unusual is that some of the rest of the galley crew come out along with the Petty Officer, they each have something sort of hidden in their grasps as the file over towards a table of marines. It looks like they are about to throw down with the table of marines by the scowly expression on Oliver's face. Another oddity is the Cookie has a stogie in the side of his teeth so his words are a bit muffled even though he's loudly stating. "Corporal Huss!?" The marine in question looks on the shocked side as the entire chafing dish is thunked down on the table in front of him. Then Oliver's mood changes as he grins around the cigar and takes it out of his teeth with a recently freed hand while the other lifts off the lid of the chaffing dish, "Congratulations!" within the chafing dish is a cake with bright bold blue frosting and smoldering cigars in it like candles. The hidden things in the other galley crews hands reveal to be stogies that are placed in their mouths and they start puffing and clapping. Oliver gives the Corporal a good clap to the shoulder then he passes the new dad a cake knife and one of his minions puts down a stack of plates. But his job here is done so he takes a step back to get out of the way.

"I'll stay as long as I'm needed, sir. That's the trouble with war. But, I won't lie, I've been looking forward to retiring for a little while now. My old Da isn't the man he used to be and we don't have but each other. So it's selfish, but I can't rightly pick between the two." Eva pauses though, as the procession comes out of the galley, and she sort of just goggles as they make their way over towards one of the Marines. "Are they going to sing a song? I hope they sing a song." No other way to properly embarrass someone.

"That's a tough call, Captain. Gotta look out for your family. 'Course, best way to do that might be staying with the fleet." Ryan doesn't elaborate further on that, distracted by the galley crew. "Maybe we can see about that, Captain," he says, and strides over with a grin. "What's all this then?" Feigning ignorance, he asks the corporal. "Someone's birthday?"

Oliver steps back a bit further when the XO comes into line of view. Oliver hasn't exactly been a Navy Boy for very long so there is that moment of, "Shit am I in trouble!?" But the officer seems to be in good spirits and playing along so his barrel chest deflates with a sigh of relief.

"Word from the wife, sir." Corporal Hess explains and then picks up a frosting tipped cigar out of the cake and gives it a puff while he stands up, "It's a BOY!" Cue cheering and clapping and then a little giggle that should not be coming out of a man like Oliver, but it does. "Just don't ask how I made blue frosting!" That makes everyone that had already dug into the cake, or sucking on the frosting tipped cigars go wide eyed. The giggling cookie proceeds to double over cackling.

Eva isn't about to get near that cake, she might lose a hand, given all the people piling in for cigars. Instead, she heads over towards Oliver, out of the way of the celebrants. "Blue food is entirely unnatural. Any way you slice it." She looks back to the group, "But I do wish I had a camera." She's happy to let Oliver cackle beside her. He'll come up for air eventually.

Ryan grins and claps along with the rest of the nearby crew. Then he claps the corporal on the back. "Congratulations, Corporal. I'll see to it you get some extra call time this month. Pale substitute, I know, but..." he lets that sentiment trail off with another back-pat. Oliver's comment about the blue gets a sidelong glance. "Well you got me scared now, PO." He chuckles, then looks to Eva. "That is a damn shame, isn't it? Times you miss having a camera phone in your pocket 24/7."

Oliver goes upright and rigid, but still smiling when cameras are brought up. "No pictures!" He covers his face and holds up his hand like he was some celebrity. The most sweetest and innocent of smiles is offered to the XO, "Scared? Our mighty leader scared of a little whipped butter and sugar!? Neeeevvveeeerrrrrr!" He winks and then sighs when some soldiers who are not a part of the celebration gripe at the cookie, "We're out of Hash!" He gives Ryan and Eva a smile Eva is starting to know well, he gives the new dad another pat on the back. "Back to the grinding stone." He waves to everyone and taps some of his minions and points to the galley.

"It is. Not only could I have been taking pictures to help the Corporal preserve his memories, I might have collected blackmail material." Eva flashes a grin though, clearly she's joking. That or she's just a very good liar. "Two birds with one stone." Once Oliver is back to himself, she grins, "You wouldn't have this trouble if your food was terrible, Cookie." She glances over at Ryan, "You're welcome at my table, sir." She leaves the marines to their celebrating and heads over to where she left her milk, now warm, and her needles. She'll settle in to work quietly, for the most part.

"Good tactician always knows where the real danger lies," Ryan observes mock-seriously. He then nods to Eva. "Eating on the run today, Captain, but I'll take you up on that another time." To the marines, he says, "You enjoy your cake, boys." And then he's moving back to the food line to get his dinner to go.


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