2236-12-18 - Moving In

Acting Ensign Isolde Asa moves in to the officers' berthings and is greeted by Van and Cap.

Date: 2236-12-18

Location: Officers' Berthing, Deck 7, Battlestar //Galactica//

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 928

Jump to End

Ensign Isolde Asa steps nervously across the threshold from the outer hallway into the berthings. She is out of her duty greens, adopting the blues of a Colonial officer -- though some are still unsure exactly what it means to be a Tauron enlisted and Colonial officer at the same time. She holds her duffel over her shoulder, and a small box under her arm. She steps cautiously forward, moving like she has been separated from the herd.

Van is sprawled on his top bunk, wearing his duty green pants and the paired tanktops of an off-duty officer at his ease -- or in his case, just out of the shower, his short hair still wet. Motion by the door draws his attention, and he lowers the paperback book that he's reading, glancing over, and then chuckling faintly. He tucks a slip of paper between the pages, then calls out, "New officer arriving!" It's not exactly protocol ... in fact it's not official protocol in the slightest, but Van still swings himself out of his bunk, landing on stockinged feet, and braces up to attention. The couple of other officers present chuckle, one or two getting to their own feet, although none of them draw up to attention.

When Van announces her arrival, Isolde winces and starts to shake her head. "No, no," she insists as more officers stand, wishing she could hold up her hands to plead that they stop. Instead, she ducks her head and carefully steps toward the pilot. She nods her head to some of the other officers present, and then unslings her bag and almost chucks it at Van. "Newton," she says, scowling. "No special attention... I already feel very, very awkward." She carefully shifts her box to her other arm, glancing around nervously.

The attention doesn't last long, a couple of officers merely nodding, one or two offering brief welcomes, but most just going back to what they were doing with little grins. Van shrugs a little helplessly, and then 'oofs' softly as she slings her bag at him, wrapping it up in both arms to catch it. "I thought I would get the hazing started off gently." Shifting the duffel to his left arm, he reaches up with his right, wincing just a little as he moves the still-healing shoulder, and puts the book down on his bed. "That bunk," he points to one across the way, and then to another down the hall, "and that one were previously occupied." As in, their occupants are now deceased. "There are a couple of others free though."

"Hazing? I haven't even got fully certified yet..." Isolde shifts from foot to foot as she turns to look at each bunk as he points them out. Her eyes sweep back toward him, and she chews slightly at her inner cheek. "Tough call," she says, voice uncertain. "Wh-which one would you take?" Which is a very cautious way to ask him for his input on this, as Isolde still hasn't gotten back to him on what she thinks about his suggestion. Or their suggestion. Whoever's suggestion.

"Me? I would see which one I was assigned." Indeed, that's probably why Van has the less-desirable upper bunk midway down the room. "But you've been in the military as long as I have, you know what everything means in the room." The pilot first points toward the bunks near the door, "The people who care most about getting in and out quickly and without being bothered, or who are a little shocky from being posted somewhere that got shelled and want to be able to get out fast." And then he turns to gesture down the way to the back of the room, "The people who want their privacy, don't want people passing by them all the time, and have never been anywhere that's been shelled -- or who don't care." A faint smile touches his lips as he gestures toward the bunks right around his, "And then there's the ones in the middle, who either got here late and didn't get a choice, can't decide, or just took their assigned bunks."

"You know that's not exactly what I was asking," Isolde says quietly, but she offers him a gentle smile all the same. She listens to the insight all the same, and then she shifts slightly from foot to foot again. She looks indecisive, and then gently nods up to the pilot. "Alright, well... I guess I should see where I was assigned." She shifts the box again, and digs out a folded bit of paper that she meticulously folded and then stuffed in her pocket. She shakes it out, and starts to skim it. Her mouth frowns slightly, and she starts looking over the bunks until she turns to the one directly under his. "Ah, well... um... maybe I should see if there's an empty bunk in the back." Even if she puts the box down on the bunk as if acknowledging the assignment.

Van shrugs a little helplessly, "There are some characters in here, but nobody's really bad or anything. Everyone showers almost enough, no one has been caught doing anything disgusting..." he trails off as she looks for his assigned bunk, then blinks as she settles on the one right under him. A flash of suspicion crosses his gaze, "You're kidding, right?" The words are accompanied by an odd mix of curiosity, suspicion, and amusement. He offers out the duffel again, "Whatever you like, Isolde." Because it's appropriate to call another officer by their first name.

Isolde holds out the document for him in case he wants to confirm it. She does take the duffel, holding it by its straps and considering the bunk. She looks to him with a tilt of her head, expression dubious. "I don't have to... I can certainly take a bunk elsewhere..." She clears her throat a bit, looking down at her feet for a moment. When she looks up again, she glances toward the back of the hallway. "I can always bunk down that way..."

Van shakes off the offer of the paper, evidently making up his mind as to what emotion he's going to go with. Amusement lifts the corners of his lips as he steps aside, gesturing toward the locker at the head of the bunks, "Oh no, I believe you. I'm just amused. Join the goodie-two-shoes and the undecideds in the middle." The movement also takes him out of the way of the picture affixed to the divider between the upper and lower bunk, the two women with their arms around one another in front of the wooded beach. "I already took the locker at the foot of the bed, because it's closer to the ladder, but if you want that one..." he shrugs helplessly, and that faint smile returns, "You'll have to fight me for it."

Isolde still looks uncertain even while Van settles into amusement. She carefully folds back up the sheet of paper, but this time, turns to drop it in the box. She settles the duffel on the bed, decision quietly made. When he brings up the lockers, the techie shakes her head slightly, offering her own quietly amused smile. "No, that's okay... I'll... take the other locker." She clears her throat, looks down at her shoes, and then decides to begin the actual unpacking. She looks up, catching sight of the photo, and then looks away to pull out the first layer of clothing -- her underwear, bras, and socks, all neatly rolled into balls or logs. She sets them into their own pile so she can unearth the tank tops in the next layer.

Van turns to clamber back up into his own bunk as she makes her choice official, "Good, because fighting in quarters is a bad way to spend your first day in the officers' berthings." Flopping out on his back, he shifts around a moment, then notes, "If you want a hand, let me know." There's a moment's pause, and then he asks, "Have you run into any trouble yet? How are Toss and your other friends in the Tech Shop taking it?"

Isolde looks up as Van climbs back up his ladder, and resumes his sprawl in his bunk. She doesn't respond to his offer for help, already having a neat stack of tank tops to accompany the duty greens and blues she's tugging out in the final layers of clothes. The question about Toss, and the others, draws a faint frown. "Not great... Toss isn't, at least. Some of the other folks get it, but Toss is... she's taking it hard. I feel like she sees it as some kind of betrayal." She shakes her head, brows heavily furrowed in concern.

Van nods slowly, "I mean, I get how they could feel that. They probably think that you're saying that their jobs aren't as important as the one you're taking now." He holds one hand up to forestall an immediate response, leaving his book beside him for now, "I don't think you're saying that. But you can see how they might, right?" He frowns a moment, then lifts his brows, "You could always make it your task in life to make sure that the officers appreciate the Techies, be heard talking them up, that sort of thing? Maybe that would help?" He evidently has not heard of smiling, nodding, and saying 'that's too bad.'

Isolde is quiet in the wake of his suggestion, but she continues to unpack as evidence that she hasn't slipped away while he's been talking. She frowns slightly, turning to start putting away her clothes in the locker. "I don't know," she offers quietly upwards. "I don't think that is what's bothering Toss..." She chews slightly at her inner cheek. "I think Toss sees this as a you and me thing... not as just a me thing..."

"So, does she have a thing for you?" Van's brows lift, "Because if not, she's focusing a lot of attention on your love life, lack there of, and love life." Because there are now three distinct phases, apparently.

Isolde frowns slightly at the question, and she carefully tucks herself onto the edge of her new bunk. She casts a glance upward at the top bunk where Van is sprawled. "I... I hadn't thought of it." She looks down at her hands, working at some of her familiar callouses and tiny scars. "Maybe... would explain a lot." She blinks, looking ahead. Then she shakes her head. Then she looks back up toward the bunk above again. "Why did you repeat 'love life' twice?"

Van gathers up his book, reaching over his head to set it on the little shelf at the head of the bed, alongside his box of matches, half-crumpled cigarette pack, and idols to Poseidon and Artemis. "On again, off again," and then Van goes all awkward, shifting on his bed and going quiet for a moment before he offers, "maybe again. And I don't know, I don't know Toss at all, I think I've only seen her twice in my life, but someone who's so concerned about who someone's dating is usually interested in one of the people involved, right?"

"Oh." It is a terrible monosyllable reply to the entire conversation above her. She shifts on her bunk, looking thoughtfully at her shoes. Then she shrugs a shoulder. "Yeah, maybe again..." She then shakes her head slightly. "Guess I should, like, talk to her about it then." She pulls her bag closer to her, and starts to unpack the lowest layer of personal effects. She takes out her own idols -- the dawning Aurora and the mother Hera. She places both female figures in her own cubby. She disappears fully into her bunk now, pulling out some pictures to stick to the inside of her bunk, as well as a couple paperbacks.

Van rolls more fully onto his side, and then all the way over onto his stomach so that he can stick his head over the edge of the bunk, "You never know, Isolde." Even as his face starts to pink from being upside-down, Van flashes a faint little smile at the Acting Ensign, "She could have the hots for me."

Isolde looks up as the head of Van emerges into sight. She snorts slightly at his comment. "Picons..." She shakes her head as she sets up the paperbacks quietly. Then she looks up at the face hovering at the edge of her bunk. "I'm sure if she had the hots for you, she wouldn't be mad about me transferring out. And you would have seen her more than, like, twice."

"You're getting closer to me, obviously. So that threatens her chances with me." By now, Van's face is totally red from hanging over the edge of the bunk, "And are you saying that I'm not charming enough to charm someone," great vocabulary, Van, "in just one or two meetings?" Grunting a little, he pushes up off the edge of the bunk again, once more wincing as he uses his right arm. then pats the picture to make sure that it's still in place.

Isolde shakes her head slightly at his words, and she offers dryly, "You need to stop letting all the blood rush to your head. It is making you delirious." Then she watches him pat the picture into place, and she tilts her head slightly. "Sister?" She asks, tone a bit uncertain. She starts to slide out of the bunk again, feet on the ground and leaning out to look up a bit. First she looks at the picture, and then up to Van.

Van chuckles faintly at her comment, "Is that so, Ensign?" The question that follows, however, causes him to let out a little breath, sitting up so that he can pat the top of the picture, "Yes, it's my sister and my sister-in-law. Monique and Becca." His finger taps from the woman on the left to the one on the right. "The picture is from a family vacation, the fall before the Uprising."

Isolde is quiet as she looks over the picture, and she offers a little smile up to Van. "You two have similar eyes." Then she shakes her head slightly before she begins to stand up out of her bunk. This allows her to look more easily up at him. She also takes this opportunity to twist her empty duffel up and tuck it in the locker. She glances over her shoulder to him. "I'm sorry. I never know what to say... beyond, I'm sorry."

"Mother's eyes. Cooper has them too. Dad's, Dean's and Faye's are green." Van is from a big family. Pressing up onto his elbows, the pilot shrugs a little helplessly, "There isn't a whole lot more to say. There are a lot of people to be sorry for, but there are going to be a whole lot more of them if we don't scrap toasters as fast as we can." There's the edge that every pilot needs, even if it's more oilthirsty than most in Van's case.

Isolde shuts her locker, carrying just her holobands and reading glasses as she turns back to her new bunk under Van's. She nods slightly at his words on what must be done next. She tightens her mouth a bit, and then turns to lean against the ladder a bit, as climbing back in her bunk is not conducive to further conversation. "You're family is huge," she comments. "It's just the five of us. You've got, like, seven..."

"Ten." And then Van backs away from that claim, "That's including Dean's wife and daughter, and Monique and Becca." His hand drops away to touch the photo again, and then he shrugs, rolling onto his back again and tucking his left arm under his head so that he can watch her more easily, "We didn't see a lot of each other a lot of the time. I mean, Dean's six years ahead of me, and Cooper's eight years behind. Dean was in law school by the time Cooper was in fourth grade." And then he pauses a minute, "Five would have been nice, but I guess I would have missed Faye and Cooper."

"That's a big gap," Isolde says conversationally as she looks up to Van, only to have him disappear into his bunk once more. She tilts her head thoughtfully, and then slowly climbs up the first few rungs so she can easily peek in on him. "Is Faye the youngest?" She asks, making an assumption based on his information so far. "She would be... early teens?"

"Cooper is." That faint smile is back as Van talks about his family, "He's a plebe at the Academy." He hesitates a moment, then clarifies, "First-year." Another pause, and then he shrugs a little, "The Queenstown campus, which I suppose is the main campus now. I think he wants to command a battlestar though, so he's focusing on gunnery and tactics. Faye... Faye was at the Picon School of Dramatic Arts in Hyperion, although she got out in time. She's a little lost now, back home in Cape Bismark."

Isolde stays perched on the rung of the ladder, watching Van's expression change as he speaks of his family. She tilts her head at the mention of his younger siblings, and she catches the edge of her lip with her teeth. "I can imagine," she says softly about Faye. "It is hard finding your place after you were forced from it." She ducks her head slightly, looking thoughtful. When she looks back up at him, she looks serious. "Mom's family was hit a lot harder with the attacks on Tauron... my dad... well... my dad was a street kid. He has no family."

Van opens his mouth to ask about her family when she ducks her head, but she beats him to the punch, and he nods, "I'm sorry." The words are an echo of her own earlier. "But going from a street kid to... a Gunnery Sergeant? That's solid. And he's got you. Your mom, Jia, you, and..." he stops then, frowning slightly, "Your other sibling. I don't think you've mentioned them at all..."

"Master Sergeant," Isolde offers, a shy touch of pride in her voice. She then shrugs her shoulders. "I think it helped my mom's family welcomed him so easily. Grandma pretty much turned into his mom the moment she met him." Then she laughs slightly as he looks confused about her other sibling. "Brother. Tomas Asa. He's a marine like good ol' dad." She then rubs a bit at her cheek, looking thoughtful. "You been in contact with your family lately?"

Van nods, "Master Sergeant, sorry." Even if he's not a Marine, the pilot knows that the difference matters. "He must be pretty special then." He nods at the description of Isolde's brother, and nods again in response to her question, "Dad sent me the 'band." He jerks his head up to the holoband alongside the book, cigs, and idols on the shelf over his head, "And sent me some updates. I try to send a letter home every week or so."

The mention of the holoband has her blushing slightly. "That was very nice of him," she murmurs softly, looking down at the ladder after a moment. Then she nods a bit. "Dad is abusing his position and sending up messages now and then... but I haven't heard for him several days." She then frowns, looking thoughtful. "I imagine that Mom would have said something if something had happened."

Van manages to chuckle a little wryly at her blush, "Oh, is that abusing his position? It seems like it's the perqs of his position..." and then he pauses before he adds, "...whatever position that is. Isn't he," the Picon remembers this... it's... "a veteran Marine? Not on active-duty? That should make him pretty safe now that it's mostly conventional warfare on Tauron, right?" Grasping hold of the upper rim of the bunk, Van pulls himself up and out so that he can lean forward to rest a hand on Isolde's upper arm a moment, "I'm sure he's okay."

Isolde has finished unpacking her duffel, but a small, opened box of belongings are still on the bunk under the bunk where Van is sprawled out. The new Ensign is up the ladder a few rungs, talking to Van more easily at the new height. She's in her duty blues, and he's in his off-duty tanks and duty green pants. Both look incredibly awkward, like someone just made an inappropriate joke, and neither know how to react.

"You're missing the whole reputation thing... my dad is well-respected in the Tauron circles. He's very, very duty-oriented. And -- not that he would admit it -- family-oriented." When Van offers some comfort by giving her arm a squeeze, she nods soberly. "Yeah, I'm sure he's okay... yeah." She looks a touch uncertain, but begins to slowly take the rungs down back to the ground, brushing her hands together once she's back on decking.

Van settles back onto his elbows again as Isolde withdraws from his hand on her upper arm, shrugging a little, "You mom," apparently his is the only one who gets the title 'Mother,' "would have told you if anything happened. No news is often good news." He starts to say something else, then shakes it off with a wry little twist of his lips. "I definitely get the reputation thing though. Mother may 'only' be the mayor of a small town, but she has more pull that she likes to admit."

Caprica "Babyface" Duncan wobbles her way in, flight suit half undone and hanging off her hips, looking perfectly exhausted. There's a pause just inside the hatch to sniff cautiously at her armpit. The verdict, by the face she pulls, is dire. "Gods, I smell like I've been marinated in latex and cheese," she mutters, pushing a few sweat-matted locks of hair from her face. A wan smile is offered to her fellow officers -- Wolfpack and newly minted. "Hey." The smile brightens a candle for Isolde. "Welcome to the classy bunks, Asa." Van gets an uptick of her chin. "Milk."

Van apparently returned from his own flight earlier than Babyface, since he has since showered and changed. "And that's another thing you have to look forward to, Isolde. Smelling like flight suit." By his expression, that is a particularly horrific fate. He kicks his feet out of his bunk, leaning forward so that he can sit on the edge, his feet dangling and his forearms resting on his knees, "No joy then, Babyface? I think the toasters have been avoiding us since the bombing run."

The blonde girl shakes her head "Zero joy. Zip. Zilch. Nothing." She heaves a sigh. "Not like I've got a death wish, but I wouldn't mind seeing a little chrome out there, you know? Just one or two. They explode so pretty." She pops up to sniff at Van the Milkman. "You don't smell like death cheese," she observes, then scrubs her hands over her sweaty neck and attempts to lay the olfactory pain on her fellow pilot. "Here, have some of mine..."

Isolde was busily putting things into other things when Cap showed up, but she flashes the pilot a wry smile. "Uh, thanks, Duncan." She then looks over toward Van, and snorts. "I already smelled like my deck coveralls... I think I can handle smelling like a flight suit." When Duncan offers her input on what Van smells like, Isolde actually pinks a bit at her cheeks, but offers as casually as she can that, "Van was in the head not too long ago. So, he smells like whatever fancy soaps Picons use."

Van grunts his disappointment on behalf of his fellow Viper pilot at her response, "Exactly. They could at least have the courtesy to pop up in small numbers to get shot to pie -- " and then she's assaulting him with sweaty hands, and he lurches backwards, only to whack the back of his neck on the top rim of the bunk, abruptly halting his retreat with an "ow!" and making sure he cannot evade Cap's scented attack. "Augh! Hells, Babyface." Despite his distress at being sweat-daubed, he glances over to Isolde, "Fancy? It's just Seabreeze." Which may be a common brand on Picon, but it's certainly not colony-wide.

Well it sure ain't Seabreeze anymore. Poor Van's going to need another shower, or at least a few passes with a washcloth. Not without pity, however, Cap does wince as Van's abrupt retreat induces head trauma. "Ow!" she winces in sympathy. "Dude." For real. "You're gonna make the techno-nugget think you're a sissy." She ruffle-scrubs Van's hair in stick-jock camaraderie -- introducing more funk to his person -- then hops down to engage her locker. "He's just a little metro," she assures Isolde as she hops from one foot to the other, removing boots.

Isolde is still pink as she watches the interactions between the two Wolves. She moves aside slightly to sink onto her new bunk, and she shakes her head. "No... he's just a little Picon." She offers Van a small smile, ducking her head slightly. Then she looks back over to Duncan. "You know, Dunc... I think your callsign is a misnomer." She flashes the pilot a quick grin, that just gently includes her dimples. "I think it's meant to lull your opponent into a sense of false security."

Van rubs at the back of his neck and head, apparently just accepting that he's going to get headrubbed at that point. Thankfully, his hair is short enough that all he needs is soap to clean it. "Let the Marines make grunting noises and scratch themselves. I don't have to be as wide as I am tall in order to be a Viper jock. I can smell nice, get pedicures, and still make ace." And he did, in fact. Recently. And then Isolde's comment sinks home, and he straightens up again -- although he avoids bonking anything this time, "Am not. I'll have you know that I'm average height."

Hee! Little Picon. Average height. Cap gets it. She snerks as she wriggles out of her flight suit and down to her skivvies. The dimples are deep. "This whole thing," she encompasses her face with a gesture, "was made to lull opponents into a false sense of security. It makes me the perfect predator. The wolfiest of the wolves, if you will." She nods. Ace, schmace, she is to be feared. Rar. (Okay, jealous, but rar, frakdamnit.) "No one expects the twelve-year-old to be a serial killer." Sagenod. Eyeshift. "I said that out loud," she mutters, then sketchily snatches up her bag of toiletries. "I'm going to hit the head."

"Very sensitive," Isolde says dryly at Van's indignance. She then grabs her small box, and sets it quite purposefully at the foot of her bunk where she won't forget it. Then she smiles over toward Babyface, laughing after a moment. "The one thing I dread... the Callsign Protocols." She shakes her head. "When I was causing trouble on the Net, I had a handle... but I know that's not how these things work." She then laughs brightly at Cap, looking both mollified and amused by the pilot. She glances back to Van. "I don't think you need to duck this time," she replies, referencing Duncan 'hitting the head'. Then she nods up to Cap. "See you around, Babyface."

"Did you just call yourself a dog, Babyface?" Van runs a hand through his hair, then gives it a sniff, grimacing in disgust as he does, "Flight suit." He swings down off his bunk, using the ladder to haul himself over to his locker, and pulls out a still-damp towel and a little basket of toiletries, "As long as you're just killing toasters, the more the better." The towel is rubbed over his hair, getting it sort-of wet again, and then he gets a little dab of something stink-pretty from the basket, dabs a drop on his hands, and runs them back over his hair and the affected areas from Cap's stink attack. "Very funny, Isolde. And no, you don't get to pick your own callsign. That honor belongs to your fellow aces-in-training, or aces-in-being. So you don't even have to worry about it. All will be taken care of in due time."

"Sure! Just toasters," Cap assures Van, brightly. "So any poorly concealed bodies engineering discovers hidden behind the maintenance panels, I had nothing to do with that. Okay?" Right? Cool. BIG SMILE. She waves cheerfully to Isolde. "See ya!" And off to the showers she goes.

Isolde flashes a grin after Babyface, looking a bit more relaxed. She sinks against the lockers, arms crossed at her chest. She watches Van fix his stink issues, and she shakes her head slightly. "Are all Picons this overdramatic?" She laughs lightly and then reaches down to put a hand on Van's shoulder while he works to solve the awful stink.

Van shakes his head at Cap's reassurances, "Remind me not to look behind maintenance panels." The pilot's head goes under the towel for another quick buff-up, and then the basket and towel alike go back in his locker and he turns back to Isolde, finding her a good deal closer and her hand just touching down on his shoulder. He freezes for a heartbeat, then offers up his faint smile, "What's overdramatic about dealing with flight-suit-smell ASAP?" And then he shakes his head, "No, no they aren't. But what's wrong with a little drama, right?"

When Van freezes, Isolde almost takes a step back -- almost. Then she slips her hand from his shoulder, clasping it behind her back. She doesn't straighten out of her lean against the lockers. She catches her lower lip between her teeth, dropping her eyes a bit. "I guess there's nothing wrong with a little drama..."

Once the toiletries are settled back in their places in his locker, Van reaches up to touch Isolde's elbow briefly, murmuring, "Just surprised." Drawing in a long, slow breath, the pilot shrugs a little, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck once more where he bonked it, "I'm really not that dramatic, not normally. But getting sweat-slathered right after showering, that's a little off-putting to most everyone, isn't it?"

Isolde nods gently at his murmuring. "Okay... sorry," she says shyly, but the apology is more instinct than genuine. She then shakes her head bit, smiling after a moment. "No, I think you can be a bit dramatic." She then starts to slowly straighten up from the lockers. She reaches up to rub at the back of her neck. "I was thinking," she murmurs softly. "Maybe we could... try the V-World again?"

Van lifts his brows slightly at her apology, but doesn't call her out on it. "You think so?" He doesn't follow after that topic of conversation, however, because her words throw him right off it. Shifting a little, he nods slowly, "I... think that would be good. But I've about run out of solid locations except for levels from games, and I don't have any that are as detailed as that skiing game."

"I mean... I think you're allowed to be a little dramatic," Isolde quickly follows up as she realizes she misspoke. Then she breathes out a slow breath, offering soon after the deflating breath, "I know... I thought going back to the V-World could... give us a new starting place." Then she looks around. "Unless you want to keep things... here."

Van nods his acceptance at her correction, then shrugs a little, "Okay. I don't have any complaints about that. Should I be talking to people about some location that they have cached?" His brows knot in a frown as he glances down, "I mean, there's not a lot that people seem to have, since most people just have 'bands or tablets, not servers. Unless you have some place..."

Isolde can feel that awkwardness settle in -- blamed entirely on the fact that both of them are still trying to painfully navigate the "off again" part, trying to transform it into "maybe on again." She then drops her eyes too, staring at her own feet. "Yeah... I do. It... isn't much though." She glances up at him, brows lifting slightly in an open, questioning expression.

Yup, a whole lot of awkward. Van closes the locker door, "That sounds great then." Stepping past her, he puts a be-socked foot up on the edge of her bunk, reaching up to grasp his pack of cigarettes and matches off the shelf over his pillow, "You'd prefer to start back in the V-World then? Less awkward then the real world?"

Isolde watches him with a small tilt of her head. She brushes a bit of dark hair behind her ear, and breathes out a slow exhale. "No... I would prefer to start back here, in the real world... but I don't know how to do that." She steps up to the bunk, tucking herself under it and sitting down. She rests her hands on her knees, rubbing a bit at the joints. "What do you think?"

"I don't know," Van admits. "I've never tried to..." he gestures between himself and Isolde a couple of times as he searches for a word that isn't 'date.' "...date... on a warship or on-base." Turning one of the chairs from the centerline table around, Van lowers himself into it, "Maybe just eating together at some point when our duty schedules line up? Movies with headphones on the Obs Deck?" He glances around the berthing, shrugging his shoulders a little awkwardly, "I mean, it's still... complicated. But less complicated than before. I think."

"Maybe we shouldn't think of it as trying to date on a warship... and just trying to..." Isolde also still can't seem to find the right word to fill in that fill-in-the-blank. Then she nods slightly at his suggestions, but when he mentions the 'complicated' bit again, she grimaces. "Okay... well... I guess we can just see if things come together." She then pulls herself up fully on her bunk, sprawling out across it, and looking up a moment at the blank ceiling above her head.

Van lifts his brows and gestures toward her with an unlit cigarette as she too struggles for the right word, like, 'See? Not so easy to define, is it?' Finally, he tucks the cig into one corner of his mouth, patting his pockets down for the matchbox that's right on the table, then finding it, striking a match, and lighting up. As he tucks the match into the ashtray on the table and blows a plume of smoke up, he adds, "I think dinner, a movie, or whatever you had planned in V-World sounds great. Any of them."

Isolde watches him go through the motions of lighting his cigarette. Only once he has settled into the nicotine does she look back up at the ceiling of her bunk. Her brows furrow to match the small frown tugging at her lips. Then she glances his way, and offers a small nod. "Okay... just let me know your schedule, I guess."

Van takes another drag off his coffin nail, blowing smoke up toward the ceiling, "Best part of being in the same squadron, you can see exactly when I'm on duty in the ready room, just like I can for you." And then he pauses, frowning a touch, "Well, except for the shifts that you're in the Tech Shop, I guess."

Isolde nods slightly. "I'll do that, then." She offers a small smile as a follow-up to his frowning comment. "Only until I'm trained up enough to be fully transferred over. Guess you'll just have to ask me when I'm in the Tech Shop." Then she curls an arm under her head, eyes closing for a long moment.

"I'll do that then." Van smiles faintly as he sits back in his chair, waiting for a long, luxurious drag on the cancer stick before he relents, "So, when do you work in the Tech Shop, Isolde?" The pilot reaches out with his left foot, aiming to nudge her in the hip with his toes, a little physical accompaniment for the teasing verbal jab.

The delayed question, and the small jab at her hip with his foot has her opening her eyes and blinking over at him. Isolde hesitates just a moment, and then offers a quiet, and almost laughing, response, "Tomorrow, oh-nine-hundred to thirteen-hundred, same on Monday, and then nothing on Tuesday. Wednesday is my full day from oh-six-thirty to nineteen-hundred." She tilts her head slightly. "Is that enough for now?"

"So evenings." Van nods, his eyes rolling up slightly as he constructs a mental calendar and lays it out, "Maybe Monday evening. Dinner and a movie or something in V-World?" He pushes up from his seat then, moving over to deposit his pack and matches on his bunk shelf again, and then heading over to the ladder to climb up, "And now I'm getting 'I need to sleep, stop talking to me already' vibes, so I think I'm going to end up going back to my reading, aren't I?"

Isolde blinks a bit at the sudden plans being made, but she nods slowly. "Okay... Monday evening. Um, I can do either... whatever you want is okay with me." Then she blushes slightly at his comment on vibes, and she shrugs a shoulder a bit. "I think so... I have to be up early tomorrow... split shift." Then she flicks her eyes over to the little of him she can see as he starts up the ladder. "Uh... good night, Van," she says, voice soft and a bit awkward.

Van slows a little going up the ladder when he realizes that putting his smokes away gave her a very limited view between his knees and chest, a faint blushing rising on his cheeks. He clears his throat, laying back and then rolling onto one shoulder to peer down into the bottom bunk, "That's what you wanted, right? Setting something up? It doesn't have to be Monday..."

Isolde looks up as she spots Van peering down from above. A warm pink rises at her dusky cheeks, and she offers a faint nod. "Yeah, that's what I wanted. Monday is fine... great even. Monday." She repeats it like sealing the deal. Then she leans up slightly to start to undo her boots so she can kick them off, and start the process of getting under the issued blanket and top sheet.

Van nods, "Good," then rolls back fully into his own bunk, reaching over his head to pick up the book again and fluffing up the pillow under his head to no avail, "Oh, and there's a curtain at the foot of the bunk, if you want to get it dark or get shy changing skivvies." A luxury probably not afforded in the enlisted berthings, "Good night, Izzy."

"Thanks," Isolde murmurs at the mention of the curtain. She reaches for it, setting her boots down beside the bunk as she does. She tugs it up along its runners, but pauses when she hears that familiar diminutive. She smiles slightly, nodding up toward him. "Night, Vee." Then she closes the curtain, and starts to settle in for her first night in the O-berthings.


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