2237-05-21 - Deliciously Broken Thing

In the saga of Lyn and Jonas, angry baking is a thing. Abigail is no help at all.

Date: 2237-05-21

Location: The //Vanguard//

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 1038

Jump to End

To Begin, the Galley

It's in that nebulous swing shift, between one round of galley meals and another, so people are coming and going in the main galley, the noise and bustle a near constant thing. But back near the prep tables, it's down to a low hum, as the members of the crew tasked with KP duty are all spread out at tables working on the meats, vegetables and other ingredients that will end up in the next round of meals. For Abigail, the loser of the best two out of three rock wall scaling contest, she's at the butcher's table, working her way through trimming slabs of meat down into their constituent parts. Which wouldn't be so bad, if the meat wasn't both bloody and frozen enough that the blood has congealed into a sort of murderous sludge.

The galley chief comes out of the back area, where the ovens are for baking their bread and such, shaking his head and holding a bottle of Aquarian vodka in his hand. "She's having one of her sessions, folks. Avoid the ovens," he warns. The regulars get it immediately, because they know the secret. Lyn's secret.

Oh yes, Lyn has a terrible secret. Ok so a couple of them, but this particular one is that she bakes when she's mad or upset. Right now, she is a lot of both, and thanks to that she is also drunk. Another bottle of Aquarian vodka, this one half empty, is on the counter by the ovens where she comes for her therapeutic pastry making.

Arda is swaying a bit and humming tunelessly as she stirs some sort of batter in a large bowl. There are muffin tins nearby, with wrappers haphazardly strewn in them, and it looks like more of the batter is getting splattered on the Sergeant and everything in a 3-foot radius of her, than is staying in the bowl. She reaches over and grabs a handful of chocolate chips from a box of stuff marked "Toxic - do not open"

"And some of these chocolate bits because of that time he ordered me those really good ones from Libran." She doesn't put them in the batter though. She just grabs a heavy wooden cutting board and smashes them to smithereens.

Abigail is nothing if not good at dodging shrapnel, and she manages to duck the first wave of chocolate that sprays out from under the cutting board, though the same cannot be said for the meat, which is now looking like some sort of strange meat ice cream sundae with dried blood sprinkles. She raises a hand, using the back of her wrist to brush a few flecks from her cheek, which does not help her cause, before she starts to tug off her gloves. Her fingers, beneath are white, with just the barest tinge of blue. Working on frozen meat for what seems like hours will do that to you. "Waste of perfectly good chocolate, if you ask me, Arda."

Lyn has dark circles under her eyes, indicating that she did not sleep a wink after the mission yesterday. They are also bloodshot to all hell, which could be from the vodka or from crying. "Waste," she mutters, slurring as she tries to focus her eyes on the three blonde women talking at her. "Good word, that one, yup." She also takes out some rainbow colored sprinkles, and promptly dumps the whole container into a garbage bin. "There goes all the pretty colors, too. Like they never were." She goes back to stirring her odd-looking batter.

Abigail motions one of the other marines doing prep over to her table. "Look, can you clean this up for me?" She says that quietly, so that only the man can hear, "She's going to end up faceplanting in that oven. And neither of us wants that cleanup." The man grins, though he looks rather concerned as more batter goes flying. Abigail though, leaves him to handle the prep of the meat, and she heads to the sink. Turning the water on to full blast, almost as hot as it will go, she sticks her hands under the water, trying to defrost her fingers, "So what's the plan, Arda? What're you making?"

"M'making cupcakes that," Lyn searches for a word in her vodka-pickled brain, "sum up muh life. Taste?" She offers the spoon towards Abigail and it doesn't look very tasty. If the diver braves it, it's horrible. It's full of salt instead of sugar, and lemon juice that just exacerbates the tongue piercing texture of shards of broken up, glass-hard bitterly burnt caramel sugar. Apparently, Lyn's life as a cupcake is bitter, sour, joyless, and full of sharp things waiting to pierce her.

She starts slinging the horrible mixture into the tins without much care for filling them evenly, or not getting any batter on the sides. "Now for the finishing touch. Burning them to ashes like everything else." She opens the oven, set to its highest temperature. The blast of heat that comes out is almost enough to make one check to see that they still have eyebrows. The tins go in and she slams the oven door shut. "Dun need to time it, when you see smoke, s'done."

Abigail does indeed brave the spoon, putting every ounce of self-control into not immediately retching in response to the flavour. Her voice is a little tight, but she offers, "That crunch...very unusual." She reaches out, trying to take the spoon, but Lyn already has it back at work, fling batter and splattering all of the other places, including the diver, that she didn't get the first time. But Abigail doesn't stop her, even stepping out of the way so that Lyn can slam the tins into the oven. If the heat of the open door didn't hit you, the immediate sound and smell of sizzling batter raises an immediately noxious fume, "You deserve a drink after that." She dips a head to indicate the bottle, trying to get the woman to turn away long enough that Abigail can flip the oven off and stop the whole thing from going up in flames.

Lyn swipes the bottle of vodka off the counter with one hand, and slides down it to sit on the greasy floor. She takes a swig from the bottle and rubs at her breastbone, beneath her dog tags, like she's worrying at an itch that won't go away. She gulps air a few times, like she's trying to slow the world down before it drowns her. "Ah deserve all the drinks," she slurs. "S'all I deserve. I," she states, trying to roll her head on her neck to look at Abigail, "Am not a good person."

With Lyn momentarily out of the vicinity of the ovens, Abigail does indeed manage to get the oven turned off, so the smell is not completely overpowering. She doesn't look interested in cleaning it up either. Serves the galley chief right for letting a woman drunk bake. But more than that, Abigail is more concerned with the woman now on the floor, and she hunkers down, studying her, her face touched by genuine sympathy, "You don't think so? Why's that?" She holds out a hand, not to take the bottle away, but as if asking for a drink.

"So many lies, back there. Way back there. I ran away, and that is on me and he wants to move on and he needed it clean. He wants to be happy. He should be happy. Blames me. But, he lied too, back then, and I didn't know, I didn't know. Why didn't he tell me? Why did he tell me now? Why? And the slippers and the box and IT." Lyn presses the hand hard against her chest where something is hung on a silver chain. She hands over the bottle, but Abigail is going to need to catch hold of it because her arm is moving like a viper dodging a raider. Arda's head tilts back against the side of the counter. "So I lied to him. I let him go. Set him free. Because I don't deserve happy. He does. If you something something, set them free and they won't ever come back and then you can be ashes too."

Abigail reaches out, barely managing to bat the bottle down. She doesn't catch it, but hey, as many spills as there are in the baking area already, a little vodka won't hurt anything. At least she manages to pick it up and slide it onto a second shelf of one of the prep tables. She moves forward, reaching out, unless Lyn stops her, to try to lifts the woman's shirt away to see the ring, and the line of raw flesh where Lyn has ground it so often against her skin it's rubbed her raw. Her eyes fall, a flash of self-recrimination darkening her features, before she releases the shirt, trying to be as gentle as possible. "What happened to both of you was terrible, Arda. I don't think it's a question of fault." Abigail stays lose, trying to bracket the woman, to prevent her from doing anything else dangerous in her condition.

"It was my fault. I was a coward. Such a coward. But I'm brave now," Lyn tries to sit up but the kitchen is clearly placed on a merry go round because it's spinning. "And I bravely lied and now he can float away and find someone better and I can find places to not have to watch it." She scrunches up her face, thinking hard, which hurts right now. "Maybe I can learn to be a..." Well crap, what else is she good at? "Baker! Yeah, I can leave and go bake cookies on Canceron for the miners or something and not ruin his life anymore." Pause. "Shit that'll be a court martial. Can you leave the service to become a baker?"

"At the end of the world, Arda, maybe we're all cowards. There's no shame in that. But that can be a momentary thing. We can learn not to be again." Abigail reaches out, still gentle, to try to steady the woman, "It's easy to be brave when there's no cost to it." She sighs, holding out her hands, "Why don't you come with me, I know where you can sit and stew and work this all out. You can come back when the batch is ready." The final question, that she touches. The comment about not having to watch, well, not a topic Abigail seems to feel needs addressing, "I think you can leave at any time, as long as you're tour's up. But if you desert, that would be a problem. I don't think they give you access to baking then." A beat, "Unless it's recipes for hard tack. You don't want to spend ten years baking hard tack, do you?"

"No, hardtack is icky. Icky. Ha! No snowflake falls in the wrong place. Bullshit. I fell in the wrong place and made a mess and he thinks I'm not the same me, and I'm not but I am. She's still inside there, somewhere. She just can't find her way back," Lyn whispers, moving her hand back to the ring reflexively. She rolls her head again and peers at Abigail as if finally realizing she's TALKING to SOMEONE. "W-Walker? Where we goin?"

"Somewhere quiet," is Abigail's answer, "Where you can sit, and think, and rest. And he won't be able to come anywhere near you." I mean, that's not true, strictly speaking, but Lyn doesn't need to know that. That being said, Abigail will help, if Lyn allows, the woman back to the part of sickbay which isn't really sickbay, but is more where the soldiers come for rest and rehab. More a sort of sports medicine layout. There's a warm water tub, a single shower, like that. "And maybe somewhere in there, we can help that woman find her way back."

"M'pretty sure she ejected out an airlock last night," Lyn mumbles, letting Abigail lead her away. "Was I talking to you? I thought I was just thinking really hard. Shit, what did I say?"

"Ah, then you're in luck. Didn't you know? I'm rated for high altitude and zero G salvage and rescue." And this situation is, sadly, going to need a lot of salvage and rescue. "Nothing I haven't heard before, don't pay it any mind." Even if she heard them with her own ears, for the time being, Lyn's secrets are still Lyn's secrets and Abigail won't betray them. Abigail continues to the shower, slipping a hand around Lyn's waist, holding her up, turning on the water with the other. For a wonder, there's actually a curtain around this stall, though more likely to keep water from splashing too far than to preserve modesty. "In you get now. I'm right here."

The vodka has really finally sunk into every fiber of Lyn's being. She gets into the shower as directed, tossing her clothes out behind her, and stands there, with her forehead pressed to the wall, half asleep. "Nice wall. Cold wall. You are so very sturdy and good to me wall. Holding me up like this."

"I'm sure that it's very happy to do it, Arda." Abigail, does not, in point of fact, get undressed. Instead she simply walks into the shower, ignoring the fact that she's now being soaked, and lifts a hand, using the stream to try to start washing the gummed up almost ran cupcake out of Lyn's hair. Might as well use the woman's head down position to her advantage, "Just stay like that, the wall will take care of you."

Lyn is too drunk to offer up any argument. "The wall is my friend," she mumbles. She is clearly well on her way to a good, solid, passing out.

The more dozey Lyn is, the easier it is for Abigail to try to get the woman back together. It's a slow but steady process. Getting the woman washed up, wrapped up, first in a towel, and then in a heavy robe, before she makes as her comfortable a bed as a sports rehab cot can be. And then Abigail just sits, waiting, not bothering to take off her own clothes, or cleaning herself off, just standing watches beside the sleeping marine.

Lyn sleeps it off like a good marine who did bad, stupid stuff hours before. When she does finally stir, her eyes open to aching slits and a hand comes up to cover her eyes. She grunts and lifts the arm slightly, to look down at herself, and try to figure out where the hell she is and what she's wearing. "The frak?" she murmurs.

Abigail, true to her word, has not left. Her clothes, though, are dry at least, and she seems to have changed, though her hair is still slightly a mess. One of the corpsmen must have poked their head in in the time between Lyn sleeping and waking. There's a spare set of clothes for the other woman as well. "Water. It'll help." Abigail rises, to grab a bottle to offer to the woman.

Arda grunts and sits up slowly. "A banana bag would help more, but I'll take the water." She holds her head in both hands to judge the level of pounding. "Yep, that feels like a...three quarters bottle hangover. I didn't do anything stupid, did I?" she asks wearily.

"You tried to flash bake some very terrible cupcakes, and you ruined a very delightful bag of chocolate chips. You know...a typical night in the galley." Once Lyn has the water, Abigail will step away to rustle up some painkillers, carrying back the bottle to Lyn. "You remember anything?"

Lyn sighs. "I was drinking in the storage bay where I keep my secret stash of stuff. Must have wandered off to try and bake with it partway through the bottle. Did I make a mess for you to clean up?" She takes the water and the pills and downs one with the other. "Not much after..." she reaches inside the robe for a moment. "Not much." She remembers finding the chain her father gave her for her 13th birthday in her stash box, and putting the ring on it. Everything after that is a blank.

Abigail shakes her head, "No, I was fine, it was fine." Maybe it wasn't, but she hasn't been back to the galley, so...she's not lying. "It's a beautiful ring." She considers, "Want to tell me what happened? Jonas told me a little, about your past together."

Well shit. Lyn goes as pale as her callsign. She spies the spare clothes and gets up to grab them, pulling underthings on under the bottom of the robe. "He did, did he?" Those words are loaded like a sniper rifle. "What did he tell you?"

"That you were in a relationship. That you lost yourself, and each other after the fall of Aquaria. That there was something broken between you and that he thought it had been settled, years ago, but that it clearly wasn't. I convinced him to go and talk to you, told him that he needed to face you, work things out with you, for good or ill. That there were too few of you left for you to ignore each other." She makes a face, anticipating Lyn's reaction, "Yeah, he was pretty pissed at me for it afterwards too."

Lyn is silent for a long moment, pulling her tee on and shucking the robe. "Then I guess that's what happened," she replies. She scrubs a hand through her hair. "Listen, it was all complicated, and he and I managed to complicate it even more." She tosses the robe into the area's laundry bin and puts on her boots. "Thanks for cleaning me up. And don't worry. I don't have any claims on him and he has made it more than clear he's done with me. He got what he wanted from me when we talked. He's all yours."

"Life is complicated, I know it is." Abigail doesn't approach the other woman, watching her with that same sympathetic expression, "I just didn't want a friend and a squad mate to be at odds with another one. I didn't go into this with any malicious intentions. I just thought things needed to be made right between you." A pause, "That if you could talk it out, you could figure out how to move on, whether or not you decided to give it another try." Lyn's final comment just leaves Abigail dumbstruck. "Is that why you think I did this? To 'get' him?"

Lyn snorts. "He told you all about how his crazy ex-girlfriend ruined his life and broke his heart. He's been on the Vanguard what, five minutes? Jonas always did move fast when he saw something he likes." She grimaces. "Listen, I'm glad he found someone he likes enough to open up to. He just wants to be happy again, and he made certain to tell me there wasn't any going back for us. There was no mention of another try. There was just his need for closure. So I gave it to him. And he dropped the gods-damned bomb on me that he'd bought me a ring and was going to propose before Aquaria fell. Mister 'I'm not the marrying type' got the last dig in by giving me THIS last night." She holds the ring up. "And asked me to tell him what he wanted to hear. So I did. Because he's been through enough in his life, and he doesn't need my ghost weighing him down too."

"Actually, no. He told me about a woman who lost her world and her way. He never called you crazy, nor do I think he would now, if I asked him. He's hurting, hurt. Even if he has decided to put it behind him, that doesn't make the pain of it any less. Any less than for you." Abigail isn't angry, but it's clear the woman doesn't take kindly to being called a rebound, "I'm his friend, Arda. Whatever else you think there is between us, I'm his friend." A wince, at the mention of the ring, the sight of it, "That was cruel. To give that to you." And a softer question, "What about your ghosts, Arda? Who's going to help you exorcise those?" A beat, "Do you want to?"

"What do you want me to say? That I'm all right?" Lyn asks, before letting her face go blank. "I'm all right, there, I said it. I'm not your problem, Walker. I'm not his problem anymore either, because that's how he wants it to be. I won't be making his life awkward or sticking my nose in his business." Because she loves him too much to do that to him. "I don't have any ghosts, because they haunt the living, and I've been dead inside for years." Unless she gets drunk apparently. "Thanks again for your help, I owe you for whatever mess I made in the galley." She heads for the hatch.

"What you say, and what you feel are two completely different things, Arda. I'm not asking for you to lie to me. Or to him, though perhaps lying to yourself is what you can manage right now. Lord knows, we all do it, so I will be the last person to throw stones." Abigail isn't going to stop the woman from walking out, that's on her, "I never saw you as my problem, Arda. I'm sorry that you thought that I would."

Lyn stops and turns to look at Abigail. "If you want the truth, of course I still love him, and I always will. He was my one. That person that was right, that fit, that even the hard times were bearable because of. And I frakked it up, on a royal scale. But he doesn't want to hear that from me. He wants to be free of me, and he wants to live a happy life. I set him free because of that. I owe him that, after how badly I hurt him. He deserves better. And that's the real truth." With that, she steps out and heads for her bunk.

Later, in the Laundry

With a major mission complete, Jonas is pretty sure there will be a couple of days before there will be another one. Which means he has time to haul out his dirty clothes and head to the laundry. With a couple of dryers spending, the Marine is sitting in one of the chairs waiting for the clothes to finish as he is strecthed out lazily in a pair of sweats and a tanktop, a music player settled on the flat plane of his stomach, a pair of headphones settled over his ears as he appears to be napping.

Abigail, the walking relationship destruction cannon, is also heading to the laundry. And not because she actually needs to wash her clothes. No, she's cleaning up the last of the towels, rags, and other detritus that was needed to clean up the mess that was made while angry, drunk baking. Her part of the bargain. She didn't have to do the cleanup, but she does need to dispose of the evidence. And so, here she is, heading in with a basket the size of a small car.

Despite appearing to be asleep, Jonas peeks one eye open as he notices the arrival of the basket of clothing and the woman attached to it. Reaching up to pull down his headphones, he stretches out lazily, like a very long and languid cat. "Who'd you piss off and why did you have to wax the entire ship in EVA?" he asks, because really, that is the only way to explain all of the dirty towels and rags, and bits of.. stuff.. in them.

Abigail sets down the basket with a heavy thump, the table, wobbly to begin with, rattling with the impact, "Arda was baking, drunk. I took care of it." Hence why everything in the pile smells like industrial cleaner and burnt, dead cookies. She sets to work, opening out three of the washers and starting to fill them, not paying much attention to colours and fabrics, because frak that noise.

When she mentions the name 'Arda', there's a visible wince. "She did this? She's really lost her skill at baking." It's a dry comment, but Jonas pushes himself to his feet, and while she's not sorting, he starts pulling stuff out to do so. Maybe to spend time with Abigail, maybe because he feels somewhat responsible for said issue. Maybe because he's just used to having to do this type of stuff sometimes. "Thanks." he offers, before continuing to assist her with the towels and rags.

"Don't thank me. I just made it worse." Abigail seems to at least have enough sense to put the heavy soil and light soil things into different loads, "She was almost blackout drunk when I got to her. Thought she had rubbed a hole in her chest where your ring was, when I saw it." She shrugs, "I convinced her to get somewhere where I could wash her, get her some rest, and let her sleep in privacy. Don't worry, she didn't thank me for it in the morning."

"The ring? What the..." Jonas sighs in exasperation and shakes his head. "Nevermind. Don't want to ask." he manages as he sorts it down further as she throws stuff in the washers. "So, nose sore enough from sticking it in? Don't worry, I don't owe you an 'I told you so' because I didn't warn you." As he finishes the sorting the laundry, the marine moves to sit on the side, patting the washer next to his for her to pop a squat. "Want to talk about it?"

Abigail, slamming the final lid down on the laundry actually has the audacity, you know, as if she wasn't the one who started all of this mess, to look rather a bit pissed off, at your comment, "I stuck my nose in? I..all I did was make a suggestion. Stupid me for thinking that maybe, with the goddsdamned galaxies going to hell in a hand cart that maybe two of the last remaining people of a dead goddamned world, or as close as we're likely ever to see in our lifetimes, might actually want to talk to each other. Stupid me for trying to keep a woman from ending up in a sickbay bed or the godsdamned drunk tank because she doesn't know how to hold her liqour....her baking is terrible, by the way, so don't let her do that again. Yeah, I'm just stupid for wanting to give you two a happy ending. Because all I got at the end of it was a, 'He's all yours.' So thanks for the no warning. I thought I was your friend, at least beginning to be. All I wanted was to help you. To help both of you, Well, yeah, so frak me for that."

"I didn't ask for your help with this. Wasn't it you that said to take care of myself?" Jonas snaps back at her, for a moment that calm facade fails, before he shakes his head. "So I went and took care of it. You don't know the history, you only knew the basics. Here's what you didn't catch. She shoved me away. Because her family and her own damn sorrow and self-pity was more important than I would ever be, in her eyes."

There's a momentary pause, considering you. And then he reaches up to rub his eyes. "This is all frakked up, but in the end, I'm not the one that's going to try to build a bridge that's been turned to ash by the person that wanted to make damned sure that I couldn't cross it again."

"Sometimes, Abigail, you can't go back again. And this is one of those cases where you can't just set it aside and pretend that it's all good. But we're not the same people we were two years ago. The Cylons may have turned our lives to shit; but she made that decision to destroy our connections. Did I love her? Yes. Did I want to marry her? Yes. Do I still love her? In the way that one doesn't get over someone had a root in your heart, maybe. But that love? It was for who she was. And much like her self-stylized name - she's a shadow of her former self. She's the ghost."

"So thank you for giving me the closure, Gale. I needed that. And if you want to consider that we're screwed over now because of it, that's your decision to make. But don't take it out on me because you meddled in this and got emotionally gut-punched. That was your choice to make, and maybe if you had asked me first instead of just leaping in, I could have helped you a little more."

"Yes, I said you should take care of things yourself. But what was I suppose to do, just let her drink her self blind? End up god knows where on the ship? And then what did you expect me to do when she woke up, no idea where she was or how she got there?" Abigail doesn't interrupt, for most of the tirade. And why should she? She deserves it. But she doesn't shrink away either, willing to face the mess she made of thing that weren't even hers to make a mess of. Once Jonas finally stops, she nods, her tone soft, "I'm sorry that I was responsible for making this worse for you than it already was. That was truly not my intention." A falter, "I don't think we're 'screwed over'. I..don't even know what we are."

"It's fine..." Jonas blows out a breath, and then seems to get even more frustrated. "Where the frak was the galley chief?" he asks, brow rising at the idea that they would have just let Lyn do that and he makes a note to talk to one of the officers about it later. "Nothing to apologize for, you were trying to help. Just next time you want to try to disarm something, make sure you're prepared for the blast radius." He gives her side a light tap. "Come on, you know better than this." he manages, before he blinks. "Well.. we're getting to know each other. I think that makes us friends." There's a pause and he considers her earlier statement. "Despite what Lyn may have said about clearing the way for you, I don't even know where my head is right now." he admits finally. "Not that I don't mind having you around."

Abigail goes back to the laundry. That at least, has no feelings to get smashed. A few more lids popped open, and she sorts the remainder of what was in the basket. Joy. Now only the basket itself is a mess, "He gave them the all stay clear." Easier to focus on the work and not even look at him, "Yeah, of course." She doesn't look up, but the look of confusion on her face is evident. And the mounting horror, as he speaks. Frak her. Now they both think she had ulterior motives. "All I wanted was to be your friend. I didn't have any 'nefarious plan.' The redness of her cheeks is visible even under her tan, as Jonas, very pointedly friendzones her. Well, better safe than sorry, Bubbles.


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