Hot and cold clash with Erin and Liv. Friendship? Maybe...
Location: Mess Hall
Related Scenes: None
Scene Number: 986
It's after lunch time; a little bit after. The crew responsible for cleaning up the place are working, and there are a few stragglers about, for whatever reason. Maybe they came late; maybe they wanted to linger for a more private conversation. Hard to say. Regardless, Erin is among them.
She sits by herself. Alone. She's new around the ship, and keeps to herself, as some do. A Marine: there's a good chance she's been noticed as one of the many recon specialists among them. Looks the part too, from her size; she's probably not hefting around a massive weapon like Chance or Tavo would. And she does an excellent job being inconspicuous, even if she's sitting out in the open.
In front of her -- beside the tray of half-eaten 'lunch' food -- is a large book, opened up. It looks a little tattered around the edges. It could be a textbook of some kind, which has seen (much) better days. It has Erin's attention.
I keep swinging my head through a swarm of bees, 'cuz I...
Liv has been back from the Tauron branch of missions, brought back for backup, but the team returned and completed the mission despite dire circumstance and now Liv just gets to hear about it while she says nothing of what went on in Tauron. What went on in either place needed to, but for some reason this... Seemed more close to home. Maybe because this ship has become her home and the people on it her new 'family'. Like back in Sag...
Want honey on the table.. Liv would have to at least open up first, and the only time she really seems to is on the field, and it has taken this long for her to finally try and join in on anything.. Though dress shopping last night?
Liv doesn't do dresses, the last time she almost did...
The biscuit clunks heavily onto her plate and over it she pours her typical mound of food to soften the stale-because-your-ass-is-late, food. Coffee mug filled, make that two and she is looking over the halls seats, deciding upon the one with the girl with the book. Unknown, another Recon like herself. Cruel irony.
The sound of an ass on a seat close by jars Erin from her reading reverie. A cursory glance -- recon folks are great, nosey spies! -- would reveal that she is apparently reading something about chemistry or geology. Hard to tell from a quick look. Not exactly fun material.
Erin jolts visibly, and frowns at Liv to show her displeasure at being disturbed from such a pleasant (honest) read. Her frown makes her face crumple in a way that is, at the same time, feline and adorably grumpy. Rather than mrowl in displeasure, the pre-existing denizen shifts in her seat, and gives a mildly-stinky-eye.
And then, face unwrinkling to an expression of icy annoyance, Erin asks quietly: "May I help you?"
But I never get it right...
The salt packets are torn open with teeth and dumps in the form of plentiful over her food like snow on a Mount.
To the adorably grumpy, Liv sees it and offers a raise of a flashing glanceof azure, ridged in the dip of dark brow and framed by similar lashes. The 'casual' zip-up is not on her fully, the top half hanging down to have arms tied around her waist, leaving her in a simple clay-colored tank top, revealing the narrowed spires of sparrow wings revealed in the fades of blues along skin and dimpled into slight figures outline.
Eating is commenced in silence despite Erin's look and words, several large mounds shoveled in and swallowed before she gives her own response with a dab of napkin to lip-corner, the paper snapped out and neatly placed in her lap. As if....!
An earphone is tugged from one ear and she looks at Erin. "Huh? Eating." A flick of gaze to her book and back to her stone-cold face in its set. Birthing a smile with a flash of teeth, but it never reaches her own frigid gaze.
"I'm not the one that needs help. You trying to force a nap in?" A waffling gesture to her book and another salted mound is shoveled in!
Erin responds with a noise. It's neither a 'meh' nor a 'growl'. So, it sounds a little peculiar. "Mrrerr." It is followed by a quiet snort that is more like a curmudgeonly harumph. "Trying. Failing." And, as if the thought of a nap made her sleepy, she yawns largely and openly, apparently not giving a shit about appearing lady-like.
"People keep coming, going." Her nostrils flare momentarily. "Hard to sleep soundly, I guess." Shrug. "Mrrerr." And then, her gaze -- languid and lazy -- rests on Liv. She's not staring: she's just looking.
She doesn't seem to be in the mood to talk. But she /is/ in the mood to eye Liv. That may be why she ends up leaning forward, setting her chin on her up-turned hand, and striking a lazily-inquisitive pose. In silence.
One earbud is out, so Liv is listening, but it does not seem it as she stabs her utensil down into the biscuit to make it crumble apart beneath the layer of food-stuff. Shepherd's (HAHA!) Pie a-la carte! A moment of mixing it, and for once, Liv is hesitating in the raking-in of food to hole ratio. Perhaps it is Erin's words, or those sounds? But from beneath brow, she gets another glance, albeit slowly.
I can't understand why they're stinging me!
"That's why you don't get attached..." Screw your reality, I'll substitute my own! Napkin is flourished from her lap and laid over the food, as Erin's direct stare has her losing that voracious appetite normally akin to the woman barely meeting height requisites.
But eyes circumferenced in dark circles show the same though words do not in regards to the subject matter at hand.
Lady like is long tossed the hell out a window at this table when Liv burps, takes a napkin corner, dimples, and sets it back over unfinished meal.
"How long you been back? What color dress did you pick?" A loft of brow at Erin, but it comes with the small grin and tug at similar corner of lips her way.
For a moment, Erin is confused. Her brows furrow. Her lips purse. "Dress?" she asks with a mild note of contempt. Harumph. "I don't know what you're talking about."
She closes her textbook quietly. "I don't like dresses." Period. There shall be no discussion of that topic. Thus spake Zarathustra, and all of that. Erin doesn't explain why. Perhaps she doesn't have to. Or shouldn't.
"Been back long enough to get some sleep. Get my things in order." An evasive answer. "This -- " She gestures around her with a finger. " -- is a bit new. Figure, I'll get used to it." Beat. "There's a few quiet corners I've found."
She seems to get settled in the conversation, as it is. Relaxes. Her attention remains on Liv, for whatever reason. She doesn't seem the conversational sort, but she still seems interested in the present. The interaction. It's hard to describe with words.
No, I'll never get it right!
The way Erin looked at her, made Liv want to dispose of her tray and go back to her tiny little bunk, plug her bud back in and drown out the rest until tomorrow night where she would feel useful.
But then something in Erin's look also dropped that prospect and hinted a small waver at opposing corner of lips. "Dresses are unconventional." A pause and she elaborates.
"Last night a group went on a miss--- shopping trip, I think for a celebration of sorts? I overslept..." A shift of gaze and Liv yawned in her own manner, or because the gesture alone is contagious and can only be denied for so long! Part-lie.
But it is Liv's own fault for sequestering herself off like the guerilla tactician she was brought up to be. But that is not now... "Where did they bring you in from?" And there it is... The unrolling of tension that sets her shoulders in a square fitting a wall, relaxing down her spine to slump over her tray with elbows propped lazily.
"You'll get used to this," A gesture around and Liv offers a small shrug. "Just be sure it is not any of my corners." In emphasis a finger rises and curls, like she has scratched an 'L' into her very own spots.
Erin's mouth momentarily snaps into an amused smile. Her lips break open a little, and for just a second. A smile. She doesn't seem the sort that does so often.
"Sure. Not yours. I'll keep an eye open." Scouts are all cut from the same cloth. And there is no way Erin will stay away from any of Liv's designated corners. That's not the recon way. That's for people who aren't so curious about getting into others' secrets that they'll camp out in a torrential downpour /just/ to get the little tidbit of information that piques their curiosity.
Erin looks down at her book, ruefully perhaps. She runs the tip of her fingers along the weather cover. Limnology. 135th Ed., Elsevier. Her mouth opens a little, and then snaps shut after. It opens a second later.
"I'm, ah -- " She shrugs one shoulder. " -- I'm from Aquaria." The little, cold planet that got smacked in the mouth by the Cylons early in the war. "Guess that's why they call me Chilly." That's probably her call-sign.
Erin looks back to Liv, momentarily smiles again -- a little less than before -- and resumes gazing at her.