Gwyndolen arrives on the Vanguard in search of lodgings.
Location: Vanguard - Berthings
Related Scenes: None
Scene Number: 1016
Sitting up on his bunk in the berthing, Tucker has his portable keyboard out and is playing a little jazzy number before lights out. It's that small window between shifts where everyone's up, daytime coming in for the night, nightime preparing to head out for their day. The billets are currently a social hub, with people coming and going, returning from mess, the laundry, the head, what have you.
Roara is in rare form today... in that she has not pulled her lower bunk’s privacy curtain closed. Perhaps it’s the music that’s drawn the pilot out of hiding. Her legs are loosely criss-crossed in front of her as she leans into a small round mirror clipped overhead. Her arms are stretched overhead, elbows winging out awkwardly as she braids her hair up into her scalp. It’s always easier to fit under a helmet that way.
Calliope is heard before she's seen. The jazzy number echoing off the walls makes her pipe up and start singing as she strolls into the berthings. It's Caprican pop, not anything resembling the song Tucker is playing. All about stolen summers and emotion and calling Aphrodite, maybe. But she shoves it into the melody he's got going and, somehow, it works. She looks fresh from the showers, still in her sweats with a towel around her neck, which she's idly using to dry her stringy blonde hair.
Hallie Mata makes her way in -- doubtless from the laundry, given the clothing she's carrying -- but pauses for a moment as she hears the music. "Living up to the new callsign, /Sound/bite?" she remarks to Calliope, in a tone of light teasing. Her laundry is dropped on her bunk, forgotten, as she settles in on the edge and turns to listen to Flats play once again. This time, she doesn't join in on the singing; Calliope's already got that covered.
Gwyndolen is new here. This can probably be determined by the fact she enters the berthings with a bag slung over her shoulder and immediately scans the room as if looking for something. It might also be determined by no one recognizing her, but there are a lot of people coming and going. She hesitates for a moment near the door, one eyebrow quirked, possibly at the music. Or the singing. Or the mismatch of both of them.
"Hey, Soundbite, give any good interviews lately?" Tucker asks as he stops his playing for a moment to set the keyboard aside. "I heard we're getting some fresh troops soon - and scuttlebutt has it they're sending us a reporter, one of the Colonial Press ones. Maybe you'll get a second chance." There's a wink given to Calliope before he nods to Hallie. "As long as that one doesn't flee again." He starts to say more, but the arrival of a fresh face has him lifting a brow, checking her over for rank, and assuming since she's new she's probably in uniform. "Evening sir. Take a wrong turn? Ringer here can guide where you need to get."
The others belong here. Gwyndolen doesn’t. Roara turns to stare over at the woman for a moment. What a warm welcome. Her expression is slack with apathy as her fingers continue to move intuitively at the crown of her head. “‘Soundbite’?” Roara cocks her head back and forth on her neck just the once before turning back into her mirror, “Guess it wouldn’t be fair to keep calling her Bullseye after last time out...”
"If I've got to wear it, I might as well own it!" Calliope pipes to Hallie. Tucker gets a raspberry blown his way. "UGH! Why do they even exist? No comment! See? No comment! I'm totally good at that now. No...!" She does a graceless twirl. She's a lanky thing, all long arms and legs, and she has to balance herself against a locker. It's when she completes this that she spots Gwyndolen. "Oh. Uh. Hi. Welcome." It doesn't come with glaring, at least. Roara isn't raspberried, but she does sigh. "I figured they weren't going to let me live with Bullseye for much longer, but I thought it'd be something...less mortifying." She's still new to being a fighter pilot, if she expected non-mortifying.
"Why would..." Hallie trails off, giving Tucker a look that probably counts as a munition. He knows damned well she can barely find her way between the mess hall and the berths; he wants her to show around a newcomer? Someone who /outranks/ her? She offers Gwyndolen a bright smile in greeting nonetheless; no laser death glare for the newcomer, it seems. "Don't worry," she assures Calliope, turning to her former fellow ensign. "Someone else will get an even worse one soon enough."
Gwyndolen is, indeed, wearing a uniform. It's a nice uniform, too. It's really...uniform-like. She looks over the group with the polite smile of someone who is sure something rather amusing just occurred, but she lacks the context to understand it. "Hello," she says in reply to Tucker. "Where I need to get?" she echoes in a tone of gentle bewilderment at the phrasing, her own voice admittedly more than a little posh. "Where I need to get is my berth. Apparently."
Oh hell, it's a pinkie drinker! Tucker leans back with a sigh. "Welcome to the Vanguard, sir. I'm Lieutenant JG Tucker Carrington, or Flats." he's going to let the rest of them fend for themselves on introductions as he moves behind him to put the keyboard away.
“/Mortifying/,” Roara makes an attempt at a haughty Caprican accent for Calli’s benefit, only arching a brow at the even haughtier tones that make their way out of Gwyn. Very briefly, her dark eyes flick upward towards the ceiling. Worlds collide here on the Vanguard! “It’s empty if you’re not a restless sleeper,” she growls, freeing a hand from her curls to firmly double-slap the lip of the bunk above hers. She only looks up from her mirror long enough to eyeball Hallie. You could have done that! “Officers and Enlisted berth together, so I’d get used to some real poor grammar. Sir.”
"Ensign...no! I'm a junior lieutenant now. Calliope Drake," said pilot chirps, in that piping Caprican accent. "Bulls...UGH!" She lets out that tragic sound again. And makes a face, muttering, "Soundbite. Uh. Hi. There are lots of bunks. They've got us in here with the Marines now. But some are still empty?" She has no idea where Gwyn's bunk is, sorry. A pair of crossed fingers are held up to Hallie. She hopes for more mortifyingly named people to appear. Roara's Caprica impression causes a brief instance of affront. "I don't sound like...!" But she kinda does. So she stops talking.
"Ensign Hallie Mata, sir," Hallie offers, from her perch on the edge of her bed. Roara can give her a glare all she wants; the Tauran is new to the Vanguard herself, so she might as well let the more experienced give the orientation. "Callsign Ringer." A pause, a glance to the newly-rechristened Soundbite. "For now."
"Captain Gwyndolen LeBossier," says Gwyndolen in reply to the introductions. She speaks briskly, but it still does not hide that annoyingly haughty Leonese accent. "And, well, we are at war. I suppose we will deal with greater atrocities than poor grammar." She strides over to Roara's bunk and considers the one above her. She studies it very carefully, as if not quite sure whether this is a trap. "A pleasure to meet you all," she adds, in the middle of potential bunk bed trap-unraveling.
“Lt. Roara Coleman,” Roara murmurs dryly. She’s concentrating on something! Dipping her head, she attempts to peer over her scalp as she continues to braid, “Callsign: Hammerhead. And it’s not likely to change any time soon. Agh, frak-” Roara hisses, cursing under her breath as she pulls back a hand and shakes it off. Her knuckles are scabbed ...from punching shit.
"Stay Ringer forever!" Calliope urges Hallie, with wide blue eyes. HANG ONTO IT WITH ALL YOUR MIGHT, HALLIE. She proceeds to her own locker. She's mostly learned where it is by now. She shifts a look to Roara. Shrugging. No encouragement to keep her callsign is added, Hammerhead as Roara is in all ways. Head tilts to Gwyndolen. "So, where are you coming from? A lot of us were transferred off the Galactica, but everybody's still pretty new."
"I'm going to try! It's a better callsign than most I could have." Hallie politely doesn't comment on whether 'Soundbite' is a worse callsign than 'Bullseye' was. Then again, she probably doesn't need to. The young ensign flops over onto her bunk, pushing her laundry to one side as she folds her hands behind her.
Gwyndolen eyes Roara at her cursing, as if re-evaluating her as a potential downstairs neighbour. She cautiously tosses her bag into the bunk above Roara. Nothing explodes. "Leonis," she says, pulling herself up into said bunk. She tries not to disturb Roara on the way up. She's considerate like that. "I was flying against the Cylons back home before I volunteered to join the Colonial Navy. I thought I might be of use here."
If Roara notices any of the attention, she doesn’t let on. She gives a few more loose flaps of her hand before returning to her task. “If you fly a bird half as fancy as you talk, you might just be. Watch your step with Spider. ...He’s compensating for something.” Her eyes ease their way up towards Calli, creasing briefly with a flash of mischief.
Calliope catches Roara's gaze and makes a face, at mention of Spider. It eventually relaxes into a little smile she flashes the Picon pilot. "Anyway. Welcome." That to Gwyn. "I need some rack time." She finishes up in her locker and goes to do just that. Flinging herself in her bunk.
Hallie grins, still laying on her bed. "Well. Welcome to the Vanguard, sir; you couldn't find..." She stifles a yawn, and then concludes, "...a better wing to fly with. But I better get some shut-eye."
Gwyndolen seems to have decided the bunk will do; she takes a few small items out of her bag and sets them in the bunk before swinging back down and taking her bag up against as she moves toward the corresponding locker. "I can fly a little," she replies mildly to Roara. "And I will be sure to keep an eye on the gentleman in question." She falls into silence as she begins to unpack.
Roara lets out a barely audible grunt of acknowledgment before finally making the effort to pull her privacy curtain closed.