2236-12-31 - Barrel of Laughs

Card game talk turns to why the Cylons have an advantage.

Date: 2236-12-31

Location: Rec Room

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 935

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"You're a godsdamned cheat! Lemme see that deck." The angry roar comes from an equally-angry Aerilon marine who looks like he bench-pressed cattle back home. Cards are tossed down on the table, and a meaty arm shoots over toward the cards in the scrawny dealer's hand.

Despite his smaller stature, the dealer (a Navy tech) snatches the cards back and deflects the grab. "I'm not cheating, you asshole, you just can't count." A glass of water is knocked over in the ruckus, spilling over the table, across Cate's cards and into her lap. She too then stands up with a startled sound. "Frakking hell, guys," she complains, as the cold water seeps through her khaki trousers.

"Knock it off, Brisco." Comes the brusque voice of another marine, Mikolas slapping the Aerilon upside the back of the head as he slides into an empty seat at the game. "Look, you made a mess outta Rhodes. We all know that's the only way you can get a woman wet, now get 'er a towel, will ya? Act like you've got some manners, even if your momma never taught you any."

Brisco gives Mikolas a put-upon frown, but does get Cate a couple of paper towels from the sink. "Don't be talking about my mama, Kovac. Five hands in a row. I'm telling ya, the guy's a frakking cheat. Damn Scorpians, probably made a living fleecing tourists back home."

The Scorpian tech smirks at Miko's remark. "Think he needs a few lessons on women as much as math. How bout you let me show him a few things, Rhodes."

Cate just scowls at all of them. "How about I put my boot up your ass," she snarks back, brushing off some ice cubes from her pants and accepting the paper towels from Brisco to blot up the rest of the water.

"Atta girl." Miko crows when Cate threatens the application of footwear, then he makes a motion to be dealt into the next hand before he flips a cigarette down from its tuck above one ear. "So what are we playing for? Cubits? Sexual favors?" He looks pointedly across the table at his fellow medic, eyebrow crooking upwards.

Brisco frowns when his insult does little to ruffle the Scorpian, then bristles at the retort. He slants Mikolas a look. "Best watch your mouth, Kovac. Talk like that, Marx is liable to make matchsticks outta you." Then he sneers at the Scorpian. "You guys wanna keep throwing your money away to this shark, more power to ya. I'm frakking out." He tosses his cards back into the center of the table and rises.

Cate gives Mikolas a mock salute at the attagirl, and smirks at the question. The smirk turns to a frown after Brisco's warning. "Marx knows better than to frak with the guy who's going to haul his wounded ass out of the line of fire, and so should you," she counters. "And anyway, I don't need him to fight my battles for me. Cubits," she finally answers Mikolas' question with a pointed smile.

"I dunno man, I like the sound of your version better," the Scorpian stage-whispers to Mikolas.

There is an up-nod to Brisco as he takes his leave of the table, Mikolas leaning over the flame of a cheap plastic disposable lighter before he leans back in his chair and tucks his knee up against the edge of the table. "You say that now, Marx, but your tune might change when you're whistling it around my cock. Unless you're into that sort of thing, and then if so, we can cut out the pretense of Triad and I can just whip it out right now. I could use a good pipe cleaning." His lips cant towards the ceiling, exhaling a plume of smoke. "Nope, darlin', you can handle your own." He confirms towards Cate.

Brisco wanders off while the Scorpian starts dealing another hand. "I'm not Marx," he points out. "I'm Santoro. Isn't Marx the big boxer guy?" He gives Mikolas a smarmy smile then. "And I've never been one to quibble about where my favors come from."

"Gods, get a room already," Cate teases with a smirk. "And yeah, he is." She picks up her cards as Santoro doles them out, then asks Mikolas, "You were on the bird with Luz and Gopnik, weren't you?"

"You mean the one that decided to just get a mind of it's own and Reznik had to manually ground it before we flew into enemy territory? Yeah, yeah I was. Laugh a minute, that was lemme tell you." He fans out his cards, throwing out two when it's his turn to get replacements. "We ended up tits over tea kettle and lost one in the process."

"Yeah, sure it was," Cate says with a sympathetic frown. She exchanges a few cards. "I was on the one that decided to go for a swim in the lake. Pretty frakked up when we can't even trust our own birds."

"Yeah, as if there weren't already enough to worry about from the Toasters shooting you down," Santoro says.

"Oh that's right." Miko mumbles around his cigarette, mostly hanging there from benefit of his lips sticking to the moistened paper rather than much physical effort on his part. "Didn't one of y'all become hypothermic? Was before I got here, I think. Weirdest damn thing, but it makes me want to curb stomp the deck if they're the one sending us out in faulty birds."

"We all got a bit hypothermic. Wagner had the worst of it - they kept her overnight," Cate says, frowning at the memory. "And yeah, I hear ya. But from what I hear, they're working overtime to figure it out. Can't imagine the brass is too happy with their birds going down left and right." Okay so three crashes out of hundreds of sorties might not be fairly considered 'left and right' but still...

"One thing when their precious ships get shot down, another thing when they just start falling out of the sky. We're expendable, the ships not so much. Only so fast they can crank those out, but Marines are a cubit a dozen." Miko ashes his cigarette into a tin cup that suffices for such things, or it was someone's coffee they won't be drinking now.

"You really think that?" Cate challenges, eyebrows raised. "Seems to me that's been a big reason why we're losing. Those bastards can crank out Centurions on an assembly line by the dozens, rolling off ready to fight." She sighs. "I've got shit. Fold."

Santoro grins at Miko. "All you then, Kovac."

"The reason why we're losing is Centurions don't cry when their brothers and sisters fall around them. They just step over their metal corpses and carry on. Their advantage is they have no feelings. No emotional attachments. No fear." Miko says at a mutter, suddenly stamping out his cigarette on the stack of cards, marking one with a smoldering black hole on it's colorful surface. "I'm out." He nearly snaps at Santoro, pushing back from the table abruptly.

"Hey, hey, easy on the cards man," Santoro protests, as if Miko had scratched his favorite car or something. "Boy you guys are just a barrel of laughs." He collects his winnings and pushes back from the table too, apparently having had enough of the fun and games.

"Funny, you don't strike me as the crybaby sort," Cate points out mildly, ignoring the Scorpian to focus her eyes on Mikolas. Brows narrowing slightly.

There is a reason the nickname Beast has started to catch on in reference to Miko. No doubt some similar explanation as to why the man's knuckles are bandaged. He's a hot head. And easily triggered at that. And so it's without any explanation that leaves the game and the rec room entirely, likely less to save his own face than that of someone else's who might accidentally cross him when in such a mood.


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