2236-12-03 - After Shake

Some of the pilots come home to the berths after the latest mission on Tauron.

Date: 2236-12-03

Location: Officer Berthing

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 907

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The berthing is once again pretty quiet, as this hour sees a lot of last minute mess-goers and shower-takers. And some of the poor saps are on shift working, poor saps. A couple of curtains are closed, but not many. There's the faint scent of fresh coffee, and in fact there's a thermos open on the table, one mug half-full but no one seems to be drinking it.

Ensign Hallie Mata is not one of those saps. The young pilot is stretched out in her top bunk, curtain open, one arm dangling down over the side. She's apparently fallen asleep face-down in a flight manual, cheek smashed into a page of schematics. She's wearing a zip up jacket, tank, sweatpants, but no shoes. She even has a piece of licorice in her mouth.

Calliope was a shower-taker. The head was the first place she went after post-flight was done, following their sortie on Tauron. But she's done with that and coming back to the berthings now, in her sweats, blonde hair hanging stringy and wet around her shoulders.

As one of the aforementioned saps, Captain Fairchild is just returning from a shift in his viper's cockpit. He's yet to grab a shower, but stops by the table in the centre of the room to divest himself of his sidearm and datapad, before tugging down the zipper on his flight suit to air the sweat out slightly. "That was some nice work you did today, Drake," he tells Calliope with a slight twitch of his mouth into an approximation of a smile. Hallie and her flight manual and her licorice stick are not disturbed. Yet.

Ensign Mata drools a bit on her flight manual, but other than that, she's mostly in order. Aside from sleeping on the studying job. Her visible eye twitched a little, and there's the faint scent of a recently burned candle -- hot wax, not perfume or strong herbal essence.

For what it's worth, the coffee remaining in the thermos is still hot.

Calliope cranes her neck toward Hallie. Her flight manuel, specifically, Curious about the page she's on. Not curious enough to stare at it for that long, though. She kicks off her shoes, pitching one into her open bunk. Then the other. Little fist-pump in the air, when she scores. They make loud, possibly disturbing, thudding sounds. She turns to Kazimir, a grin spreading across her face. "Thanks. That was the first time I've ever hit a frakking thing outside of a practice drill," she admits.

Kazimir leans over slightly to eye the thermos, but leaves it - and its presumed owner, blissfully dozing - unmolested. Instead, he peels his flight suit off down to his waist, seeming grateful to be free of the hot, stuffy neoprene. Beneath it, dual tanks and ink a few shades darker than his skin. And burn scars, not quite hidden by his clothing. "You could've fooled me," he murmurs, trudging over to his locker and fiddling with the combination for a few moments.

"Meh." Hallie's gloriously suave awakening comes with a little lift of her head and a soft sound. Her flight manual crinkles, the page stuck to her face. Sugary licorice runoff, but only a touch. She winces and smacks at the page, still half asleep, hands a little bumbling and heavy. "Hades, not again." She mutters, peeling herself off the manual. She squints and takes in Kazimir and his flightsuit, and Callie, her fellow blonde, blue eyed ensign. A section on V-speeds is ripped as she smashes the book closed, rubbing the side of her face with the sleeve of her zip up. "Good flight?"

Calliope sifts around in her bunk until she finds a packet of cigarettes. A cheap Leonis brand. She lights one up, taking a quick puff as she settles at the table. She also leaves the coffee alone. For now. Her smile takes on a lopsided angle at Kazimir. "That's me. Faking it until I make it. You guys were tight out there. I thought that toaster was going to get away, but...boom!" She does the last low and throaty, like a sound-effect. She looks up at Hallie as the Viper pilot 'meh's' awake. "It went well. I think. There are fewer toasters over Tauron than there were before, at least." She looks to Kazimir, for confirmation they did a good job.

Kazimir didn't accomplish a whole lot, in truth, outside of some pretty flying. But he doesn't seem the sort to obsess over the killboard, either. "CAG had some good shots too," he observes. It takes him two tries to get in to his locker, and a towel, bar of soap and toothbrush are fished out. The latter's tucked between his teeth, and a smirk is sent Hallie's way as he bangs the door shut and heads for the Head. "Rrreat," is grunted around the toothbrush, mostly unintelligibly.

"I will definitely drink to that," Hallie replies. "Happy to bury all those chromed bastards deep in the soil, cover them over and drink to their end." That would probably be a bit more rousing if she herself were more roused. The blonde rubs her hands over her face again, slapping her cheeks lightly as if that'll help her wake.

"What section are you working on?" Calliope asks Hallie, with a cigarette-wielding finger at the flight manual. "I've been kind of slacking on the book stuff since I got my post here." About the CAG, she nods in agreement with Kazimir. "Yeah, that guy can shoot. Why they pay him the big bucks, I guess. I heard he used to be Leonis Foreign Legion, before everything went to Hades with the toasters."

Hallie shakes her head a little. "I was going back to the parts about the wiring, but I didn't make it past the middle part about fueled and un-fueled weights and all that stuff." She tips out to the edge of the bunk and reaches her hands up, taking a long, slow stretch that pops at least two places in her back. "Even tried drinking that coffee." She pulls a face. The coffee's good, actually, but this ensign just doesn't have a taste for it. "Probably cold now, which is even worse." But, of course it's not cold, because she hasn't been out that long. She mms and thumbs after Kazimir. "Captain Fairchild?" She thinks about it then nods her agreement. "He does know how to use his KEWs." She mms. "Leonis Foreign Legion? Huh." She thinks about that for a moment more. "Huh." The intonation is exactly the same as the first one, so if that's deepened her ideas or impressions of the Captain, it's really hard to tell. "... How 'bout you? Where were you before all this?"

"I do not understand frak-all about what goes on inside a Raptor," Calliope admits ruefully. "Like, I can name the parts, but I can barely program my own holoband." Rather than putting her pack of cigarettes away, she holds them up at Kazimir and Hallie. Want one? To Hallie's question, "I was a pilot. Well. Civilian. Not military. I flew transport ships, mostly. Liners and stuff. I worked for..." A pause, before she admits. "...my dad owned this space-cruise company, Hyperlight Fantasies. I flew for them. Before everything. You?"

"Like you, apprenticed in the family business." Hallie doesn't seem to have any judgments about working with or for family. She does regard the cigarettes for a long moment, a long moment, before she shakes her head and refuses them. "My grandfather's best friend is a pilot. He got me interested, and before I knew it..." She gives a lazy wave of her hand. "Clothing with stencils." Standard issue attire -- the dream. "And I don't imagine I'll ever know all the pieces, but I wanna know how far I can adjust things without bits falling off at inopportune moments." And/or the deck chief getting huffy.

"If something's on fire, I know to try and put it out," Calliope says, chuckling. She nods when Hallie turns down the cigs, leaving the pack on the table. For her part, she is savoring her smoke. "What kind of stuff did you fly? Back before Everything." She says it like the capitol letter is implied. "A raptor is the smallest thing I've ever gotten behind the stick for. They put me in a viper a few times during flight training, but my feel for controlling the thing was totally frakked. Everything felt like it was happening about a hundred times too fast."

Kazimir returns some minutes later, smelling a good deal better and in the process of pulling on a clean tee shirt over still-damp skin. The brushing of teeth is still in progress; it's resumed once he's fully clothed, right hand used to pitch sweaty clothing and wet towel inside his locker. And then he promptly wanders back off again to spit in the sink and rinse his mouth out.

"Hey, I know the fire thing too." Hallie smiles, nevermind the slight impression of crinkled paper pressed into her skin. That'll fade in a few. "I went up for some lessons, but mostly just the oldest thing they had at the closest air strip, cobbled together from parts of a kit and salvage." One might intuit that flying wasn't her family business. She doesn't speak more on what it is, at least unasked. "The trick to vipers is your hands and feet all have to work together even if they feel like they're moving in different directions." She talks to Calliope, watches Kaz throw a wet towel into his locker like a slob, then frowns. She gets up, climbs down the ladder, and crosses to reach into the locker to hang the towel, so it has a small chance of drying without mildewing. It's two bunks down from hers, but that smell tends to travel. "... You didn't happen to light your raptor on fire at some point...?"

Calliope has folded herself up at the central table for a leisurely smoke. She looks both too tired to move and too restless to return to her bunk. All post-mission excitement come-down. "I didn't feel like I had any heft under me. Which sounds weird, I know. It's still a big frakking plane. But I got paranoid about every gust of wind throwing me off my game. In a Raptor, I feel like I'm still dealing with some heft between me and the elements." She laughs. "Haven't lit it on fire yet. I think I would've gotten a different callsign out of that. They named you Ringer, right?" Her eyes follow the interplay with Kazimir's towel. For her part, she's content to let it mildew. Or not. "What about you, Captain? How'd you get into the whole flying thing?"

Kazimir wanders back over just in time to spot Hallie rifling around in his locker, purpose unknown. He watches her for a moment or two, then his dark eyes wander over to Calliope at her question. They linger more on the cigarette between her fingers, than the pilot herself. "Needed a job," he tells her with a quiet matter-of-factness that borders on dismissive. He, it seems, has no romantic tale to tell. "Bum a rolly off you, Drake?" is asked in practically the same breath; his rough northern Virgan twang offsets any quaintness the slang term might evoke.

Hallie makes short work of hanging the thing, and then scuttles back across the way to her ladder, bare feet slapping lightly against the decking. Like scuttling's going to keep her getting noticed with a hand in a captain's locker. "I get that. It can be like riding a thin sliver of metal loaded with fuel and thrust. Just be sure it knows who's riding whom, and then let it know." Her tone doesn't seem suggestive, just matter-of-fact. "Yeah, they did." Christen her Ringer, that is. "I keep forgetting to answer to it, though. I guess that'll sort itself out."

"Sure." Calliope picks up her cig packet - a cheap Leonis brand that you can find in any of their spaceports - and offers it to Kazimir. Along with her lighter. Which is a more expensive-looking monogrammed silver thing, with the initials 'HCD' etched in it. Her own accent is pure Caprica City. She looks at him a beat like she's curious about his tale - romantic or no - but she doesn't ask any questions beyond the one voiced already. She snorts, nodding to Hallie. "Yeah, I get that. It weirds me when people call me 'Bullseye.' Like it's somebody else, right?"

Kazimir's expression is a mingling of faint amusement and.. something else. He's what's generally referred to as career military; the plight of baby pilots seems pretty far under his radar, so he doesn't wade in to the discussion. Instead, a smoke is accepted with murmured thanks, along with the zippo, and he unhurriedly lights up. His thumb brushes over the initials on the lighter's case briefly, before it's handed back to his owner, and the captain wanders off toward his bunk. "That's a simplistic way of putting it," he notes to Hallie, presumably of the 'who's riding whom'.

Hallie nods in agreement to Calliope. "Hear it often enough, it'll sink in." Hopefully. She spiders up the ladder to her bunk, perching on the edge. Her legs dangle the side, feet swinging slightly. She casts a look at Kazimir, smile faint but there. "Simple sinks in." The young pilot pulls her legs up to sit crossed legged. "The rest is just hands and muscle memory." She pauses, "And potential for fiery death." A shrug follows. "But they told me I'm not allowed to die, so I do my best." That's definitely dry.

"There's a 'not allowed to die' order? I need to get me some of that." Calliope pockets her lighter, inclining her head to Kazimir. Her own cig is smoked almost out by now, and she stubs it in the ashtray on the table. Before heading back to her bunk. She has no more comments on Vipers to the Viper pilots. Simple or otherwise. "Frak. I am, like, beat. But I don't even know if I can sleep right now. Does that make any sense?"

Kazimir lets the smoke dangle between his teeth while he rearranges things in his bunk: pillow, shaken to fluff it up; a couple of shirts (clean) tossed into his locker along with the sweaty things headed for the laundry. He drops down on the edge of the bed, datapad in hand, and prods at it for a few moments while the girls talk. "Nervous energy," he offers helpfully to Calliope without looking up. "Physically tired, but too wired to sleep. It's pretty common around here."

"Post-mission come-down." Hallie nods in agreement and recognition. "When I need to sleep, I just read my flight manual. Read the part about fueled and un-fueled weights. "And I'm... fairly certain there's a no dying clause in our paperwork." She leans back, hands pressed against the thin mattress on her bunk. "Have you tried reading the index?" She raps her knuckles on the flight manual.

"Post-mission come-down." Hallie nods in agreement and recognition. "When I need to sleep, I just read my flight manual. Read the part about fueled and un-fueled weights. And I'm... fairly certain there's a no dying clause in our paperwork." She leans back, hands pressed against the thin mattress on her bunk. "Have you tried reading the index?" She raps her knuckles on the flight manual.

"Yeah. Guess it must be." Calliope considers her bunk without actually climbing into it. Ultimately, she just puts her cigarettes and lighter back, and retrieves her shoes. "Maybe I'll go to the gym for awhile. Or the observation deck. Or...anywhere. This ship is still so frakking huge I get lost half the time. She tilts her head at Hallie as she puts her shoes back on. "I'll try the index when I get back, if I can't pass out by then. Later." The good-bye includes Kazimir as well, before she wanders out of the berthings.

Kazimir grunts something that might be a farewell to the departing blonde, and continues to prod at his datapad for a few moments. Tap, tap, tap, tap. Fingertips scraped through his scruffy beard as he ponders something, then resumes tapping away. He's either logging mission data, or sending naughty messages to someone.

Hallie grunts a goodbye to Calliope, ever the classy type. She jams her flight manual under her pillow when she needs it later. It may take all month to make it to the part she's looking for. It would probably be faster talking to a deckie. The ensign eyes the thermos on the table, sighs at it, and reaches for the ladder. "The observation deck is a little creepy. Too much space, not enough flight suit."


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