Several officers and enlisted talk in the rec room, mostly about nerdy things.
Location: Rec Room, Deck 8, Battlestar //Galactica//.
Related Scenes: None
Scene Number: 892
One side of the rec room is... pretty wild. A group of Scorpians and Capricans are cheering over the latest pyramid match to be brought onto the ship in the mail. The other side of the rec room is... pretty much the opposite. Van Newton sits opposite another pilot, each with a holoband on. They're silent for a long time, and then pull up their holobands nearly at the same time, the Picon pilot smiling faintly and reaching across the table to shake the female pilot's hand, "Thanks for the game. That heavy cruiser is a beast solo." Apparently, the Seas of Fire games are going on, just quietly. They exchange pleasantries, and then she rises to depart, and Van glances down to the ashtray before him, only to find that his cigarette is almost entirely ash. Sighing heavily, he starts patting down pockets, drawing out a rumpled pack and shaking out another coffin nail.
The CAP just landed about twenty minutes ago, and as Farm Boy, AKA Finn O'Day was a part of it tonight, he's only now arriving in the rec room for the evening. He's got a cigarillo between his lips. It's already lit, and a trail of smoke wafts behind him as he walks into the room and off towards the ... Well, he was going towards the rowdy side of the room until he realizes how rowdy it is. Also Aerilon wasn't playing, so...really what does he care? So instead, Finn makes his way to the quieter side of the room, nodding to Van as he does, "Decent night?" he asks, motioning to the holoband.
Hallie wandered in a few moments before the intensely silent holoband battle ended, a small metal in in hand. It's dented and scratched, etched with geometric designs. She remains tipped against the counter, legs crossed at the ankles, and waits for an electric kettle to finish heating. She doesn't even glance over at the rowdy crowd, his makes it pretty obvious she's doing her best to ignore them. The blonde Ensign's attention drifts to the other pilots while she pours herself a mug of hot water.
Van blinks over at the sheer volume from the other side of the room. Evidently it has risen during the time he was playing. Probably because it's near the end of the game. The Picon pilot tucks the butt of a cigarette into his mouth, then looks up at Finn at the man's question, his brows rising slightly. Looking down to the rank tabs and then the callsign on the man's flightsuit, he straightens up in his seat a little, plucking the cigarette free, "Yes sir. It seems to be a pretty spectacular game, and I finally got a mat that I needed to level up the Triple-A on my Waverunner-class." Which is... pretty much gibberish to anyone who hasn't played Seas of Fire or a VR game similar to it. Van nods to the open seats around his table, inviting both lingering pilots to the quiet table, and then tucks his cigarette back between his lips, ashes the old one, and uses it to light the new with just the faintest shake to his hand.
The cigarillo, in its dark brown paper and somewhat oakier smell than a standard cigarette, is plucked from Finn's lips after a deep inhale. This style cigarette is more common on Aerilon than other planets, the style of tobacco grown there producing that unique smell to the smoke. The alcohol dipped paper likely adds to that smell. The offered seat is taken by Finn who just looks sort of blankly at Van. "Huh?" Apparently he doesn't play VR games back in the Aerilon air wings. After a moment he waves the hand holding his cigarillo a bit at Van, in a negating motion, "We're all off duty here. Finn is fine. Farm Boy works too."
In comes Isolde Asa, chatting almost shoulder-to-shoulder with another dark-haired woman who works the deck. The two are speaking in rapidfire Tauran, and there are lots of hand gestures. The two look like they are about to take a seat at an empty table when Isolde notices Van and his company. She flashes Van a quick smile, and turns toward her companion. "Cm'on... we can go join Newton." But that idea doesn't seem to settle well, as the other Tauron shakes her head and holds up a hand. "No, you go... I gotta check in on some stuff. I'll, uh... join you later." Which even Isolde can tell is a pretty lame excuse. Isolde doesn't press, but accepts the squeeze to her arm and nods a bit of a farewell. Suspicion mounts as she looks back to Newton, heading his way.
Hallie leaves the kettle in its cradle, carrying her steaming water to the table when a seat's offered. She slides into the seat across from Van, raising her cup slightly before she puts it down, a micro-thanks. She glances at the holoband, but doesn't comment except to grin a little bit and pop open her tea tin. She fishes out a tiny mesh ball with a spring closure, pacmans up some loose, aromatic tea, and plunks the infuser into the cup to steep. "Hallie." She's so dang new, she doesn't even have a callsign yet. She takes a slow, deep breath, seated as she is between two smokers, and tips back in a slouch. The sharp scents of anise, cinnamon, and ginger rise with the steam from her mug.
"I made progress in the game I'm playing," Van translates. And then he adds, "Van Newton," and holds out his hand, "We must be on opposite duty schedules, I don't think I've seen you around. And it looks like you just got off the flight deck." Blowing a breath of smoke up toward the vents overhead, he offers out his hand to Hallie as well, "Pleased to meet you both." Isolde's entrance draws his head up, and Van offers a wave to her as well, "Asa." And then he gestures to the other pilots and the techie in turn, "Finn, Hallie, Isolde Asa."
Finn mouths 'Ahh' without actually saying anything. He takes another drag from the cigarillo, and after nothing that Van blows towards the vents and glancing to Hallie as she slouches, he also blows up towards the vent. "I heard they had some holo games and sims here. We didn't have those in our fleet." Because they are poor. Super poor. "And yeah, just got off CAP, needed to decompress before cleaning up." A beat pause, "Good to meet you too." He returns the hand shake and then nods to Hallie, "Evenin' Hallie." A whiff of the tea is taken and he offers a quick, appraising raised brow. And then there's Isolde. She gets a look, and a nod. He tips his non-existent cup towards her.
Jacob needs a spot where he can put all of his stuff, and his bunk is a poor place to do it. So he's carrying a couple books and a notepad under his arm when he makes a rare appearance in the rec room. Because it's not the gym, so his law holds no sway here. Despite that, he seems to be roving over towards an unoccupied table and pulling out a chair, setting his books and whatnot down.
"You must have done something to piss off Toss, because she always has somewhere else to be when I try to drag her into hanging out with you," Isolde announces to Van with a small smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. Then she turns toward the two new faces, and she brightens a touch -- dimples and all. "Hi... Specialist Asa... IT department, and occasionally poking around Vipers and Raptors." Which is both serious and a little jab at her behind-the-scenes status on-board. She doesn't offer out a hand, but just gently nods greetings.
Hallie takes the offered hand in turn, fingers curling around the other pilot's hand. She gives a firm, light squeeze. "Newton." She affirms the name, probably trying to cram that name into her mind, as one does, you know, when meeting a Battlestar's worth of new people. The Ensign is so new, it's possible that her uniform hasn't even been washed yet. She glances over to Isolde at the intro via Van, and a smile accompanies her greeting, "Asa." There's a nod to Finn there, too, "Evening." There's a flash of a little longing as all the smoke makes its way up toward the vents, but she contents herself with that freshly steeped loose tea, bringing it to her lips. She swallows quickly and pipes up, "Oh, I like the screws on the joystick a little loose, but poke away otherwise."
Van shakes his head at Finn, "This one's strictly personal. I mean, we've been using it to learn to work together, but it's on personal holobands." He pats the strictly civilian model set down on the table before him, nearly brand new. "They have full milspec holoband flight sims in the Ready Room though. Top of the line." Because Picon is rich as sin, so he's used similar things before. He frowns a touch at Isolde, "I... don't think I even know Toss. Is she a techie too?" Jacob's passing by causes him to frown slightly, something catching at his memory, then blinks and looks back to those at the table with him, "Would you like a cigarette, Hallie? And don't worry about it, I also respond to 'hey you' most of the time."
"Don't touch the screws on my joystick." Finn fires off towards Isolde, smirking just a touch. He then plants the cigarillo back between his lips and takes a deep drag. He exhales up towards the vent once more. He eyes Van and his holoband for a few moments now, arching an eyebrow. "Yeah, I've seen the ones in the ready room." The Aerilon military had pretty outdated systems all things considered. Odds are most ships didn't have holobands, but instead sported old school sims you had to sit in. "I'll have to check those out."
"Yeah... she works the deck," Isolde explains, though she frowns as Newton seems to have no connection to Toss. She shakes her head, filing that away in her head for later. Instead she brightens at Hallie, latching on to the Ensign's mere presence. "I think I just finished the final system checks on your Viper... Ensign Mata, right?" She tugs out a chair, sits, and folds her legs lotus-style on the chair seat. Her gaze flickers over to Jacob in passing, and she offers a nod. Then she looks back to Finn and immediately puts up her hands. "I won't touch your joystick, sir." It takes her a second, and then she blushes faintly. "I m-mean... you know..." She clears her throat, and looks to Hallie.
Hallie considers Van's question very seriously, staring at him with those thoughtful blue eyes. Staring. Her brows draw down slightly while she thinks about it. "Uh... nnnnno." She draws out the syllable, like maybe it's just a little hard to refuse. The little demons behind her eyes are saying yes, yes, yes. The Ensign slurps her tea softly. She flicks a little side-eye at Finn when he mentions the screws on his joystick, but her eyes flick right back to Van. She turns to Isolde, sliding around to face her. "Yes, that's me!" Her crooked little grin hides the thought she's having right now: please don't say you found the watermelon gum under the HUD.
There's a mild method to what Jacob does, though he does grunt and nod at the acknowledgment from the greeting given by Isolde. Mostly, once he's sat himself down, he start arranges papers that have been stuck in one of the book he was carrying. They're sorted, looked and pondered, before fishing out another one, a pencil plucked out of a breast pocket. Another moment, before he looks like he almost forgot something, starting to pad his pockets down, searching. Ends up being in the larger pocket on his leg. It's a small fabric with a cinch tie. Opening that, he dumps out what looks like a handful of dice. Not your normally shaped ones either. All sorts of different shapes.
Van frowns slightly at Isolde's response, "I'm not certain what I would have done to upset her then." After all, he tries pretty hard to be nice to the deck crew. "Maybe she's the one person in the universe who hates Picons." Hallie's refusal of the cigarette draws a nod, and then he lifts his eyebrows at Isolde's comment about Finn's joystick causes him to lift his brows in surprise, "Really?" A faint chuckle lifts to his lips, smoothing away quickly.
Apparently Van stole the words right out of Finn's mouth. He'd started forming the R to ask her if she actually really would never touch his joystick. He could have meant that totally professionally. In the mechanic way. That kind of professional. So instead he opts for, "No need for sir's in here. It's a rec room. I don't find bein called sir very recreational. Do you find it recreational to call me sir?" He pauses a moment to take another drag from his cigarillo and exhales as he speaks, forgetting to blow towards the vent, "Finn is fine when we are off duty."
"Don't worry... your bird is ready for you," Isolde promises Hallie. "Just don't let the other pilots haze you..." Not that, that is a thing. Right? Then she looks back toward Van, and she shrugs. "I don't know... she seems to avoid you. Maybe she's got you confused for someone else." Then she clears her throat, and looks away from Van at his surprised look, shoulder lifting in a half-shrug. Finn has her almost blushing again, and she shakes her head. "I do not find it very recreational to call you sir... sir..." Then her lips twitch slightly. "But, you can call me Isolde then... if I can call you Finn." Then she looks to Van.
Amusement lights the Ensign's face at Isolde's words, but it's the clicky-clatter of a bunch of dice hitting the table draws Hallie's attention to Jacob. She says to Isolde, "I'll probably be okay." That's the Tauran spirit. Though her mug of tea hides most of her face, her eyes are definitely on the marine's booty. Dice-ly booty, not booty-booty. Still, she subconsciously leans in the direction of Finn's cigarillo smoke. It's a slight sway, and not much more. "Surely hazing isn't a thing. It opens so many doors."
Clatter-clatter. Nothing like the sound of rolling dice on a table. Jacob chews on the end of his pencil a moment, mentally counting. A number is written down. They're picked up and again, that number written down. And the process repeats. "Aw yeah.." he muses to himself at one particular roll. "That's gonna be the Dex stat." The most animated he's been seen. Or well, when he's not punching someone in the ring or shooting a Toaster. "Frak." he grunts at one of the rolls. Dump stat? Dump stat. Nobody cares about Charisma anyways.
Van starts slightly as he looks down to his cigarette realizing that it's already gathered a trail of ash. He knocks the ash off into the ashtray, shrugging a little helplessly and then takes a draw from the coffin nail and blows the smoke up toward the vent again. "'Sir' is certainly easier than remembering the names of all of the several hundred people you've met in the last couple of weeks, I have to say." Isolde's awkwardness causes him to smile faintly, glancing over at the techie sidelong, and then he shrugs at Hallie, "I don't know about the Colonial Forces, but there was certainly hazing at the Academy." There's a pause, and then he adds, "The Picon Naval Academy, of course."
Of course. Finn eyes Van a moment and then nods to Hallie, "Hazing's real. Everywhere, in every fleet, on every ship. It's a time honored tradition of making sure every viper pilot is humbled enough to not get their wing killed." He doesn't smile or smirk. He doesn't put on a stern face either. He's totally neutral when making that statement. FUN! Finn stands up, snuffing out his cigarillo in the ash tray, "Sounds good to me Isolde." He turns and nods to Van then to Hallie, "See you two around." and then he glances to Isolde, pointing at her, "And you too, Isolde." And then he's off towards the exit.
Hallie digs around in her pocket for a crumpled up piece of lined paper. On the back is a sketchy pencil doodle, geometric, which looks suspiciously like an unlabeled, hand-drawn map to the Rec Room from the Head. She flips it over, drags a short, oft-sharpened pencil nub, and scribbles something down. She glances up at Finn's comment about hazing, and she smiles. Apparently neutrality prompts amusement, and she doesn't even try to hide it.
Isolde casts a glance at the sound of dice being rolled, and she frowns slightly. Her brows arch slightly at the archaic gaming style, but it is a temporary distraction when she looks back to Van. Isolde catches sight of the map -- or the shadow of a map through the paper -- that Hallie has. Her curiosity is piqued, but she tries not to be too nosy while also trying to figure out what Hallie is writing. Then she looks up toward Finn at his singling out of her, and she almost blushes again. "Okay, Finn..." She wrinkles her nose with amusement, and then looks back over her shoulder to Jacob.
Jacob taps his pencil against the numbers he's rolled, seeming to ponder, then pulling the sheet in front of him. End of the pencil taps against the tabletop idly. He starts to shuffle through other papers that have been shoved in between pages, sorting through them. A few pages are flipped through one of the books he's got on him. "Hrm." Deciding he's not ready to put down said numbers, he gets up, moving over to one of the vending machines shoved away into the corner of the rec room.
Van gestures over toward Finn with the newly-roused cigarette, "It's different everywhere. I'm sure it will be some odd combination of traditions from each of the Colonies." The captain gets a nod as he departs, "Good to meet you, Finn." He glances over to the map as well, "You know... they have printed maps. The tour director here," he gestures over to Isolde and that faint smile returns, amusement flickering through his clear tenor voice, "was handing them out when I came on-board." The Picon shifts his cigarette into his left hand, his right dropping into his lap a moment before he leans forward to ash his cigarette again.
Hallie seems to be writing something in small, blocky letters. She glances over as Jacob rises, finishes up the note, and snakes it over onto the table by his dice while he's still hunting down the contents of the vending machine. She stretches as she stands, spins from Jacob's table, and takes a step back toward the one she was sharing with the other pilots. "Write it down, remember it better. Plus I missed the maps." She glances over at Isolde finally, fingers steepled on the table's surface while she leans against it. "Hmm. Tour guide and deckie and techie." She falls silent for a few moments, then nods. "Remind me to buy you coffee sometime. It pays to know people, right?" She grins.
"The Galactica and I go way back," Isolde replies dryly to Van's teasing, speaking mostly to Hallie. "I've been here for a while." Which, in the grand scheme of things, is still not all that long. "She was a lot quieter when I moved in... but now I have really obnoxious neighbors." Which is to say fellow enlisted. She smirks to Van, shifting about in her seat slightly before looking back at Hallie. "If any of the pilots give you a hard time, let me know... I'll show them what hazing looks like." Taurons look out for each other... even when faced with other Taurons... She looks up to watch Jacob, and then her curiosity gets the better of her, and she leans sideways slightly to peek at the numbers he's got written down. She muses slightly, and then straightens up. "Alright, I got a date with a sad-looking DRADIS readout on one of the Raptors. Apparently, it's been reporting back some of the Vipers as debris." She pushes up out of her chair. "Picon, I got that new program up and running if you wanted to take a look on your next break." Speaking, of course, of something nerdy and obscure, like most nerds do.
Van's lip curls up at one corner in response to Isolde's smirk, and he nods, "Too talkative, I'm sure." Looking back to Hallie, he adds, "She also fixed the enviro controls on the officers' berthings, let us actually move in." And only two days late. "She's good people. And, now that I think about it, not the sort of person you want on your bad side." He winces slightly at Isolde's description of the technical problem, "Just don't start calling it Cassandra. I don't want its readings to start becoming prophecy." The mention of the new program draws his eyebrows up sharply, and he straightens up in his seat, "I'm on CAP tomorrow morning, and I have office hours in the afternoon, but I'm off in the evening. Look me up if your schedule works out." Glancing back to Hallie, he clears his throat and shrugs a little, sort of explaining awkwardly, "Software... uh... configuration. My degree is in software engineering."
Hallie's smile widens at Isolde's offer of some Tauran justice for hazing parties. She nods, sweeps up her mug and finishes off her tea. "You got it." Mess with one Tauran, mess with them all. "I like her, and I like my bunk, so definitely good people," she observes, ostensibly to Van. "I have to go, uh," scrape some gum off the interior of the cockpit of a Mark II, "... run a checklist. See you around the births." Meanwhile, she leaves behind a note on Jacob's table which is a suggested rejigger of his numbers, and a goofy cartoony character portrait, signed simply: MATA. The note's lettering is even and quite small, signature bold, but still neat. "I mean, I hear that's what all the kids are doing in the darkened corners of the supply closets. Configuring."
Isolde spies Hallie's note, and she giggles slightly. Then she starts off, pausing only when Hallie mentions configuring, and she blushes. "I'm trying to tweak the last details on this drumming simulation." No, really, with instruments! She does seem to be following Hallie out, but also looks over her shoulder to offer Van a departing smile before she heads out the hatch, into the hallway, and off to the deck.
Jacob eventually returns with a soda in hand, returning to his table to find...a note. "Eh?" he picks it up, looking over what it reads. "MATA?" he blinks quizzically, then looking around for the culprit. Which he doesn't really seem to be able to pick out. No idea what the acronym means, but he does seem to like the numbers that were offered. Maybe he'll use them.
Van colors at Hallie's suggestion, clearing his throat again but doing his best to play it off, "That would be hardware configuring, Hallie." And then he gestures over to Isolde at her explanation, nodding to each woman and adding a faint smile to Isolde. Drawing in another lungful of smoke, he blows it up toward the vent, then gathers up his holoband, "Alright... destroyer hunting next..." Two nerds, nerding it up in very different ways.