2237-05-14 - CIBO?

Tavo and Rothschild discuss the Cythons while in the gym.

Date: 2237-05-14

Location: Gym, Cutter //Vanguard//

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 1021

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Gustavo probably shouldn't be working out, not with a bandage still wrapped around his right upper arm and purple-green bruises at his right collarbone and left shoulder (and his stomach, although that one is covered). But at least he's doing his own version of light duty -- relatively light weight and high reps, just with his left side. He's evidently been at it for a while, however, based on the sweat standing out on his brow and shoulders. He sits on a bench in front of the free-weights, curling a dumbbell in his left hand, his breath hissing in and out with each rep.

"Should you really be doing that, Delgado?" Rothschild is standing behind him, arms crossed and hip cocked. She is dressed in standard issue athletic pants, her off-duty tanks, and plain sneakers. Her dark hair is drawn up into a high pony tail, save for the lengths of forelocks that must be tucked behind her ears due to their not-quite-long-enough cut. She has a pair of boxing gloves tied together and hanging off her left shoulder -- they are not standard issue, and in fact look rather old. Whereas Tavo is all bruised and beat up, the Praetorian of Trenoir has still gone unharmed and her only scar is that tiniest knick just beneath her hairline.

Tavo looks up and over he shoulder at the question, shaking his head as he looks back to the weight moving steadily up and down in his hand, "Probably not." Four more reps, and he lets the weight down, his forearm resting on his thigh a moment before he lowers the weight to the mat with a dull thump. "But if you let it sit..." he shrugs helplessly, gathering up a towel to wipe off his brow and then turning toward the other Staff Sergeant. He spots the gloves and points to them, "Now that's something I shouldn't be doing."

Rothschild shakes her head, unconsciously retucking a bit of dark hair behind her ear as she does. "I'm not even going to ask if you got that cleared with the medical staff." She steps past him to take a seat on the bench across from the large man. She removes her gloves from her shoulder, and sets it down beside her. She then starts to work at the tape around her hands, flexing and loosening where it needs it. She looks up at him with the slightest raise of an eyebrow. "Then you can hold the bag." Her nude lips quirk with a small smile.

"Of course I was." Beat pause, "More or less." Which means they got tired of Tavo being a horrible patient, and he wasn't actually going to hurt himself by doing more. So they got to see a lot less of him. He chuckles quietly at her 'request,' "Don't you usually let it hang? Or is there some reason you want to beat the piss out of a bag, Praety?" He's careful with the nickname, doing his best to get it right this time.

"Mmhmm. More or less," Rothschild replies, her tone dry. Then she slides on her off-hand glove, tucking the righthand one under her arm. She looks up at him with that quirked brow. "Do I really need a reason?" She stands, taking the advantage she has to actually look down at the otherwise hulking gunner. "But, yes... I usually just let it hang. I was merely giving you something to do." And then the buxom woman steps past him toward the bags.

"No m -- " Tavo has to actually cut off an instinctive 'ma'am' (not how he would reference an officer, just a higher-class woman), "No reason needed." He looks down to gather up the dumbbell he was using, carries it over to the rack, and wipes it down with his towel, then follows her over to the bags, making a beckoning gesture, "I'll lace up your right glove."

Rothschild catches that almost 'ma'am', and it causes her to smile instinctively. It has been described as a pleasant smile with just an edge of mischief. At the offer to help her with her glove, she turns toward him as she unwedges the glove from between her arm and side. She offers it to him before she in turn offers her right hand. She waits for him to begin fiddling with the old glove. "Have we heard any word about the... Cyl-thon? Cy-thon?" Whatever you call the combination of a Cylon and a python. The entire premise seems ridiculous to her.

Tavo rolls his broad shoulders uncomfortably at the smile, shifting his feet almost bashfully, like a kid caught out by the teacher. Focusing on holding the glove tight for her to settle her hand into helps, and then he laces up the back easily, grunting softly at her question. "Nothing. You'd think they'd have used them on Scorpia and Canceron before if they had them." He tests the tie on the glove, then gives them a little bump with his fist and moves around the bag. "I was just going to go with 'scary-ass-snake-thing-with-metal-bits.'" Pause, "Yours is better."

The bashfulness that overcomes Tavo has Rothschild smothering her own amusement for the sake of the fellow Staff Sergeant. She wriggles her hand into the glove, flexing her fingers inside it a few times. Then she watches him lace up the gloves. "You're fairly adept at that. Do you box?" Then she shakes her head at his grunting reply. "Not if they were still in development." Which adds a whole layer to things that Rothschild has not fully unpacked yet. "I'm sure Colonial Command will end up giving it a far more cumbersome name that includes a well-created acronym." She then turns to the bag, bumping her gloves together a few times. She takes up a well-balanced stance that is mostly centered in the balls of her feet, letting her heels float just barely off the ground.

Tavo shakes his head at the question, "Pyramid, not boxing. But we use gloves to practice unarmed combat in the Scorpian Army." More like MMA gloves than boxing gloves, but the idea is still similar. Getting both hands on the back of the bag, Tavo settles his left shoulder into it, then shifts, trying to find a spot that isn't as bruised as the rest, "Cylon Organism... Designed With... Aquatic... Living... And... Preying...? I don't know, I was going for cod-wallop."

"CIBO," Rothschild immediately says off-the-cuff. "Cylon-Integrated Biological Organism." She lands a few solid punches onto the bag, but she keeps her body fluid as she does, making sure that Tavo holding the bag doesn't send too much inertia back through her arms and shoulders. She keeps the gloves up near her cheeks to block, even if there's no way that the bag is going to punch back. "Alternatively CIBE: Cylon-Integrated Biological Entity." She looks up at him now, eyes narrowed. "Pyramid?"

Tavo lets his arms absorb most of the impact, allowing the bag some give before it butts up against his body and he absorbs the blows. "Sy-bo? That's not bad." He doesn't worry about analyzing the other Sergeant's boxing form, knowing he's far from an expert himself, just playing the part of the shock absorber. "Yeah. There are two ways out of the militia when you're my size on Scorpia -- feet first, or find something bigger and better. Pyramid worked for a while, then things got hairy, and I had to find something bigger and better than screaming fans." The army, apparently.

Rothschild lands a few more hits. Her form is traditional, but it doesn't seem to be based on any Leonese styles. In fact, there's something incredibly Tauron about how she fights -- lower to the ground, more squared in her frame from hip to shoulder, and maintaining most of her balance on the balls of her feet. "Mm." She glances at Tavo after a moment. "Was this before or after the Uprising?"

Tavo chuckles at the question, "Way, way before." His brows lift slightly, "How young do you think I am?" And then the chuckles return, but he shakes off the question, "It was back in college. Never got a chance to try out for the pros." There's a pause, and then Tavo inquires, "Don't the Leonese go in for kicks and such too? That looks... Scorpian? Tauran?" He's no martial artist, but he's seen enough people fighting and brawling now, in the ICJPK and the Colonial Forces.

"The Colonial Forces will take anyone and everyone, Delgado... I don't assume." Rothschild jabs twice more in quick succession before she nods along with his story. "Too many Pyramid players are coming out of the pros and into the armies. Though that does create some interesting dynamics as the semi-pro players start eyeing those empty positions." The inquiry does stall her a bit, and she straightens up to look at him. Sweat is on her brow now, and she has a small flush across her shoulders. "Tauran. My father was part of the Foreign Legion, but from the Tauron Colony." She does start to chuckle a bit. "Though, my grandmother is also Scorpian, so... perhaps we can go with a hybrid." She knocks her gloves together again, taking a breather.

"Yeah, I heard the Stingers lost Eshfield, Sacres, and de la Cruz to the service." Tavo pushes back from the bag when Rothschild straightens up, rolling his left shoulder with a little wince, "Which is probably going to cost the Storm a player or two in turn." There's a pause as Tavo processes her described family tree, and then he chuckles, "Wait, the noble Praetorian of Trenoir is half Tauron and a quarter Scorpian?" His chuckles grow, approaching outright laughter, "I bet that never made the headlines on Leonis."

"Eshfield was my fault," Rothschild admits with a half-shrug. "We had dinner a couple times, and apparently I planted the seed." Her eyes trail over Delgado's frame as he rolls his shoulders, and releases the wince. She shakes her head as she steps up to the Scorpian and offers out her right glove so he can loosen it. The laughter that starts from the giant draws a delicate snort from her. "Of course not... it is the Leonis blood that counts, and my father earned his citizenship before he married my mother, so all is right in the eyes of the Leonese."

Tavo's eyebrows shoot up at the first note, "You had dinner with Eshfield a couple of times?" He sounds impressed, "We were looking to recruit him for the team when I had to join the Army." Which dates him within three or four years. "He had the wicked hook shot even then." His thick fingers work the laces free quickly enough, splaying the lacing open and then grasping onto the glove so that Rothschild can pull her hand free, "Bit of a shrimp though." He can't resist that, his teeth flashing bright in a grin, even as she waves off his hoped-for scandal.

Rothschild starts to laugh as she pulls out her hand, and then works the laces on her left until both hands are free. She takes the glove from him and ties the laces together so the gloves can be placed back over her shoulder in a drape. She shakes her head. "Eshfield is one and nine meters tall, Delgado. That's easily two-tenths of a meter taller than I am." She gestures for him to follow, and she resumes a seat on one of the padded benches. She starts to rub at her hands, focusing on the tendons and webbing of her fingers.

Tavo shrugs a little helplessly, holding up his newly-freed hand about forehead height on himself, then chuckling and shaking his head, "He grew a little in college, I think." He follows over to the bench easily enough, glancing down at her hands as she rubs between her fingers. Shifting his seat a little as if he were going to say something, he subsides, after a moment changing to a quiet question, "Was that your first time back in the field?"

Rothschild stretches out her fingers of one hand, tugging a bit until the knuckles give a small pop. Then she looks up at him at his question, the quietness of it catching her more off-guard than anything. "Um." She then starts to chuckle a bit, almost nervous -- quite a break of her normal demeanor. "Yes." She works around her knuckles a bit more, flexing and softening and rubbing. "My first time in the field was within the first forty-eight hours of the Uprising. Thirty-six of those was in the Athenas Academy, waiting for reinforcements." Though waiting is a serious understatement based on the reports.

Gustavo keeps his voice pitched low, beneath the clatter of weights and thump of gloves around the gym. "You handled it well. I got twitchy the second time I saw a Toaster." And then he frowns in thought, working through her statement fully. "Wait? Your first combat was the Uprising, and you hadn't seen a fight since?"

"No." Rothschild was expecting this, but she keeps that small well of defensiveness from building inside her. "After Trenoir, I was taken off the front lines and placed on a war tour for Leonese. Then, when the Colonial Forces needed recruitment assistance, I was transferred to the Cee-Eff." She drops her gaze back down, working at her left hand now.

Tavo could be quiet cruel here, raising his voice, making a big deal about it. Instead, he just nods, "Then you handled yourself real well. Both times." He uses the towel over his right shoulder to dab at his shoulders and neck, "I'm always curious why people keep focusing on boxing," And... he just totally changed the subject without further poking or prodding, "I mean, who's going to punch a Cylon in the face?"

Rothschild blinks in earnest surprise at the way the gentle giant handles her admission. She leans back slightly, forgetting her hands for a moment to truly examine the Scorpian across from her. Her brow is slightly wrinkled as she does, and her dark eyes flicker from head to toe. When he changes the subject, she drops that scrutinizing gaze to worry at her hands once more. "Of course no one is going to punch a Cylon, but there are still plenty of humans who still may need a punch in the face." She looks up at him again, brow half-raised. "Besides, I'm not focusing on it to use it. I find it helps with recoil." Particularly when she cons a big man to hold the bag.

Shrugging a little helplessly at Rothschild's surprise, Tavo chuckles at her response, "Point. I prefer not to punch people either, but sometimes... sometimes a good joint-lock just won't do." The mention of recoil causes him to nod slowly, "Hadn't thought about that. I suppose I just go straight to the firing range for that." Because sometimes even a gentle giant goes straight to the point.

Rothschild laughs. "There was not always a firing range available when I was touring the Colonies. But I could always find a gym with a few punching bags." She starts to move her rubbing hand up an arm, heading to her shoulder where she puts a bit more emphasis on the ball-joint and its muscle attachments. She is thoughtful, and after a moment, muses aloud, "That's where I should go next. Though I'm sure they don't like it when you go full-auto in the firing range."

Tavo's dark eyes follow her hand up her shoulder, and finally he pushes up from the bench, nodding toward her joint, "Let me." Rubbing your own hand is one thing to the big man, apparently, but massaging your own shoulder? Something else in his mind. "And the quartermasters complain about ammo expenditures, but the El-Tee's got a good head on his shoulders. As long as all the rounds make it to the target, there isn't usually too much bitching."

Rothschild hesitates for one naked moment when Tavo offers to assist, but then she nods and drops her own hands away. Her posture is straight, but relaxed -- a natural poise reinforced by military standards and time in front of cameras. She offers the most subtle of eye-rolls beneath the fall of her thick lashes at his response. "Well, I'll keep to burst fire then... because I hate to make guarantees I can't keep." She chuckles slightly then, and lets a moment of silence pass between them before she asks, "Were you assigned to the Galactica?"

Circling around the woman, Tavo wraps his towel around the back of his neck, then sets one hand on her shoulder, bracing at the back, before his other moves up to slowly help rotate her joint, stretching it out before he applies slow, sliding pressure along the muscles leading away from it. "Oh, no, I just meant in the target area. Like, not crossing lanes. And yeah, I was. And the Scorpia Shipyards before that, all with the Cee-Eff."

When the gentle giant begins to release the pressure in her shoulders, Rothschild releases a low and slow breath that sinks her deeper into her center. She closes her eyes, focusing on the smooth line of his hand across her shoulder. His clarification just draws a small nod from her, not trusting her voice yet until some of her aches start to sooth. She glances up slightly. "I requested a transfer the moment I heard about the Galactica and Athena. I'm sorry that I was not able to walk her corridors."

That news draws Tavo's brows up in surprise, but after a moment he nods, clicking a few more points about the woman together in his head. He's quiet for a few moments, offering a little pressure at her shoulder-blade and a pull back on her shoulder to stretch the muscles again after they lactic acid has been worked out of them. "They're... straightforward. They're all about killing toasters. I liked that. And they were being used to shore up all the points that needed help the most. I kind of miss that, even though I'm damned glad we're doing good works here."

Rothschild breathes out another soft groan again as he finds a small knot just at the top of her shoulder blade. "I'm glad to be involved in any work at all that does not involve a camera following me around." She chuckles then, almost ruefully in the midst of the confession. Then she looks over her shoulder to Tavo. "I think you will find that the Timber Wolves will provide enough Cylon kills." She offers him one of those subtle smiles.

"Yeah, but I liked being put between Cylons and people. The shield instead of the point of the spear." Tavo smooths his fingers across Rothschild's shoulder lightly, then gives it a little pat, "Other one, or was that the only one giving you trouble?" There's a pause, and then he adds a little warily, "I heard they embedded a photographer on the Vanguard."

"Hm." Rothschild also puts a small piece together as she considers Gustavo. Then she nods slightly, and shifts in her seat to offer up the other shoulder. "If you insist." There is a soft light of amusement in her Leonese accent, but she does not seem to be making fun of him, but instead just enjoying the passing moment. The mention of the photographer draws a small grimace, but it lacks much bite. "It was inevitable. I'm surprised it did not happen sooner, to be honest."

Tavo shifts to the other side of the bench, his big hands wrapping around Rothschild's upper arm first and then working his slow way up to her shoulder, "I suppose that you'll have to keep your head down and not do anything photogenic." A chuckle bounces beneath the words, and he shakes his head, "Like firing a SAW full-auto at a Cylon with a wisp of hair sticking out of your helmet."

Rothschild's light smile returns, and she shakes her head. "Oh, darling, that's probably not possible. I think my instincts around cameras have defiantly changed." Though the remark about the hair wisp causes her to offer a soft, almost melodic laugh. "I will try to keep my hair properly pinned, Sergeant." Though she now silently wonders if Tavo is remarking on an actual event with a hair wisp, or an imagined one. She's certain her hair was properly secured yesterday...

Tavo chuckles easily at her response, "Just so long as you don't worry more about getting the perfect shot than giving it." By his tone, he's teasing her, although he does add, "And really? I can't imagine Marines like being called 'darling' any more than soldiers do." There's a pause, where both his words and his hands stop for a moment before restarting, "Unless they're talking to their sweetheart, of course."

"Old habits," Rothschild says apologetically. "Consider it a form of endearment... one gunner to another." She then reaches up to pat his hand gently before she starts to stand. Her shoulders are red where he was working out the joints and tendons, and she rolls her shoulders a couple time to move the ache along as the muscles stay warm. She then re-slings her boxing gloves. "I hope you won't take offense."

Finishing the duplicate service to her right shoulder from her left, Tavo shakes his head at the pat on his hand, and steps back, "No offense. Just wanted to let you know that some folks probably wouldn't take it too well. I don't know how it is on Leonis, but a lot of Cee-Eff Marines seem put a little too much of their..." he glances down a moment, then goes with, "...manhood in who they are as a Marine."

"I'll keep that in mind." Rothschild does not sound at all offended; in fact, her amusement is quite plain. "Good thing I don't put too much of my manhood into being a Marine. Imagine what the headlines would read." Then she offers him a gentle nod of a farewell. "Thanks for the help, Gigas." The Leonese word sounds vaguely like 'jye-jas.' She is already headed for the gym door without further ado.

If ever there was a cue for a dirty joke about putting your manhood in a Marine, that was it. Tavo, however, resists, although he does chuckle a little to himself. "Even worse than being a quarter Scorpian." The Leonese word causes him to grin, and the big man shifts into Leonese himself, putting the words together carefully, "Any time, one who is pretty." It's another play off his misunderstanding of her nickname, and not the best grammar in the system, but...

The returned Leonese draws a smile over the sturdy shoulder of the full-figured Marine, but she is already mostly out the hatch to offer a reply and stays on course.


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