Calliope and Mikolas hang while their Raptor is prepped to head off-base. Cigarettes and dumb nick-names abound.
Location: Flight Line - Edson Air Base
Related Scenes: None
Scene Number: 959
It's morning, early enough that the air's still cool and hasn't yet turned to sticky humidity. Or rain. The flight line is a mix of Galactica and Canceron personnel going about their duties. Calliope is among them, though at the moment she's in 'hurry up and wait' mode. She's slated to fly a group ground personnel out for a jungle patrol in an hour, and has little to do with herself in the meantime. Her Raptor's being checked over and readied for flight by the techs. She is a good ways away from it at the moment, having a smoke under an awning of a storage shed.
Miko has been doing an awful lot of volunteering for off-base missions lately, so he's no stranger to sitting on the flight lines waiting for his ride. That's what the military is, after all: a whole lotta hurry up and wait. The marine slogs into the area with his rucksack and medic bag, looking like these last few days have left him rode hard and put up wet. His bottom lip is split, he has a black eye and - because he's going on missions and short on time - he's got some decent stubble going. Finding himself near that same shed, he sidles up to Calliope and un-shoulders his bag. "Hey, you're that Betty from the laundry room, aren't you sir? Got one of those to spare?"
"Betty?" Calliope gives Mikolas some side-eye. But reaches into her pockets to retrieve her cigarettes. She hands him the pack, looking him over. Eyes coming to rest on the black eye and split lip. "Oh, yeah. I remember you. I hope those aren't the same bruises from last time. Those things are supposed to clear up."
"Betty. You know." Miko makes a grand gesture at her face of swirly fingers and circular motions before he takes the pack. "Someone far too hot to be in the military." He gives the pack a shake until he can pluck a cigarette out of with his lips, then hands it back. Various pockets get a slap down until he finds his lighter in his chest pocket, slipping it out and bending over the flames. "They seem to follow me wherever I go. Fall down a lot of stairs and into doorknobs, damn things just keep jumping out of nowhere."
Calliope sucks in a cheek, considering. As if she's not sure whether to take the 'Betty' bit as a compliment or not. Finally, she just shrugs and says, "Thanks. I think. I'm still trying to balance my beauty regime with making myself all hardcore." She snorts, about the stairs. "I'm starting to think you're in, like, an abusive relationship with stairs. Sad to see love wasted on architecture that doesn't treat you right. Name's...Kovac, right?"
"We tried to agree to see other people, but we just keep reconnecting. Must be fate." Miko mumbles around his cigarette, a smirk making his lips slant cockeyed. As some sort of weird marine curtesy, he wipes his palm off on his pants before offering it out. "Sergeant Mikolas Kovac. That's right. But unless you want me to keep calling you Betty, you're going to have to refresh my memory. One too many falls down the stairs will do that to a guy."
"Ensign Calliope Drake. My callsign-thingy is Bullseye, because Raiders like to shoot at my sweet, sweet ass, apparently." She winks at Mikolas. "Which, hoping they don't today. I'm due for take-off as soon as my guys assemble and the techs deal with my Raptor."
"Yeah, I think I might be on your flight. Bullseye, huh? They missed an opportunity, they should've gone with Tramp Stamp. Same amount of syllables." A pause. "Admit it, you're impressed a marine knows what a syllable is." Miko's smirk turns into a full grin when he plucks the cigarette out of his mouth to ash it.
Calliope snorts at 'Tramp Stamp.' Then, gives Mikolas a wink. And does not comment. His bit about all the syllables he knows does get a laugh. "Hey, who the frak knows what any of us were doing two years ago. Maybe you were, like, a guy who reads those word-things for a living. Books, or whatever they're called. I can't actually think of what that job would be. But maybe it existed."
There is a light chuckle when he gets winked at again. "That's right. I was a professional word reader. You get paid by the page you know, so I just read a /lot/ of kid's books. Pictures take up most of the book." He pinches the cigarette filter between forefinger and thumb, protecting the cherry with an awning of his other fingers. "Nah, I've been at this for five years now. Well before the war ever started."
"Yeah, you seem like the nursery school type," Calliope says with a laugh. The laughter is getting more friendly, though. Gradually. "I'm new. Well, ish. I've been flying since I got out of college. Never really wanted to do anything else with myself. But it was transports and liners and stuff until the worlds came down. Didn't seem to be much to do but volunteer after that."
"What can I say, I like the rhyming." Miko continues on with the ruse about being a Professional Book Reader before he takes another drag of the pilfered cigarette, his eyes pinching to slits as the smoke filters up towards his eyes and curls around the edge of his helmet before going rouge. "I joined so the military would pay for my medical school. The only thing I've been learning lately is how to correctly guess the amount of gauze I need for each bullet hole."
"Rhyming all the time...ing." Calliope trails off from any attempt to compose spot child poetry. She nods as he explains about joining up. "Would've been a good deal. If things had been totally different. Frakking Cylons. You think the Colonial government - or whatever they're calling it today - will still pay your way after the dust settles?"
"Maybe if I live that long." Miko points out with a 'what are you gonna do' shrug of his shoulders. "All I know is if they do, I'm sure as Hades not going into trauma. I have a nice cushy option in mind that puts me right where I want to be. But I'd bet you'd never guess my area of focus." Oooh, a challenge!
Calliope holds up the hand not controlling her cigarette, crossing a pair of fingers. Here's hoping. She half-smiles. "I spent the past couple years flying luxury liners. Cruises, from Caprica to Leonis, mostly. Cushy as frak. My..." She pauses a beat. "...the company I flew for's long gone now, though. I'm not even sure I'd want to go back to it again after this." Pause. "If I live that long." Her head tilts at Mikolas. Considering. "Don't tell me it's seriously pediatrics?"
Miko gives a chuckle as he looks down to his boot tips, kicking at an errant rock with one of them in a sheepish gesture. He looks coyly sidelong at Calliope without raising his head, "Pretty damn close, Betty." Seems that name stuck regardless, "Prenatal."
"Wow. All babies, all the time?" Calliope does look surprised. "I feel like that'd stress me out. Everything's so tiny. I can barely imagine flying a Viper. I need to have something under me with some heft. Like, none of this applies to medicine, obviously. But I think that'd be nice. Especially after this mess. Life, not death, and stuff."
"And their mothers." Miko points out, but before she can go getting too impressed by his choice, his chin lifts. It's a sure sign his bravado is chasing away any vulnerability. "Where better to pick up chicks? I mean, you know they already put out. And they're all hormonal and horny and shit. And if they are about to be a single mom? They are just /begging/ for a piece of man meat to cling to."
Calliope snorts. "Super charming, Butch." Because if he's keeping her random nick-name, only fair. She rolls her eyes, but doesn't push too hard against the vulnerability chasing. "I hope you get to do it. Hope I get to...whatever. I haven't even thought about what something beyond all this might look like."
"Well, if you ever just want to spit out a few babies, I'll make sure to leave you my forwarding info. In like, four to six years, anyways." Done with his cigarette, Miko holds it out at arm's length and gives the filter a pinching twist until the burning tobacco falls out. Using his foot, he grinds out the glowing ember and sticks the butt in his pocket. One does not litter on base. "I /am/ super charming. It's true."
Calliope gives Mikolas another snort-and-eyeroll. She wields them with flair. Her eyes haven't really stopped paying occasional attention to her Raptor, and she catches a wave from a technician working it. A few more Marines are also starting to file into the area. She takes another puff on her cigarette, before dropping the near-spent thing on the ground and grinding it under her heel. "I think they're almost ready for us. I'll try not to drop your ass too hard anywhere. I don't think my Raptor's the abusive type, but you might inspire it."
Miko comments dryly. "You'd be surprised with how many crashing Raptors I've been in lately." And for once, that doesn't seem like a joke.