A party is arranged to celebrate Banshee making ace. It includes some slightly-confused Marines.
Location: Crew Lounge, Cutter //Vanguard//
Related Scenes: None
Scene Number: 1058
Grease from firearms can be particularly tricky to get off one's hands. Evidently, Tavo has already been in the Vanguard's little armory, getting his weapons ready for the big push tomorrow, because he's now sitting at a table, wiping at his hands with a rag, an oft-rolled Pyramid magazine and a mug half-filled with something strong enough to leave vapor lines sitting on the table before him. He watches a couple of ship's crew members playing a VR game, leaning this way and that as if that might have any effect at all on the performance of their avatars.
Hands accented with old callouses grip the chair just beside Tavo, and Rothschild pulls it out before lowering herself onto the hard surface. She has this pleasant kind of slump about how she occupies the chair -- liquid and refined with a lazy sort of poise. She crosses her arms at her chest as she leans into the chair, casting a dubious glance toward the Pyramid magazine (of course), and then back off at those playing VR. "I never could quite get into that sort of thing." She rubs a forefinger across the lower edge of her full lips, and then glances at Tavo and his rag. "Ready to go then?"
There's plenty of people taking in the views, or playing cards, or chilling. Alain strolls into the room, glancing at those playing VR with a little twist of lips. The grin remains though as the pilot heads over and flops into a chair opposite Gustavo and alongside Rothschild. His fingers drum on the table as he leans forward, thumb jerking towards the game-in-progress. "Never really understood the appeal. I'd rather be out there, you know?"
Gustavo looks up to Rothschild, then back down to the stubborn bit of grease in the creases of his left ring finger, grimacing as he works at it with the rag, "I played a little when I was little." Which is a relative term. He nods to Alain as well, not worrying about any sort of protocol here in the lounge and in his tanks and sweats. "Locked, cocked, and ready to rock." He pauses a moment, and then amends, "Not actually cocked." Since he wouldn't leave a weapon cocked in the armory even if the armorers wouldn't crap a brick.
"Quite." The Praetorian flashes Jigger a wry smile. "I have always preferred the real thing." Oh, the layers to that statement, and she delivers it so smoothly in her Leonese alto that it may be hard to decide if she recognizes the double entendre. She decides to start poking around Tavo's cup, and she scoots it closer to her so she can consider its contents. She quirks up a brow at the Scorpian before she looks back to the pilot. "I think we should share this, Tavo... you shouldn't drink alone."
Coming in with Eva, Tucker is carrying a large sheet cake, that like the lounge, has been decorated with one of the new 'posters' from Aubrey making Ace. There really is nothing like hazing the new member of the five kill club. "I wonder who's gonna call dibs on her nosecones." he says with a laugh to Eva as he sets it on the table, setting it out while waiting for Eva with the punch and cups.
Alain makes a noise of amusement -- maybe bemusement, glancing towards the VR game. Gustavo's words to Rothschild draw the pilot's gaze back with a knowing grin. After all, not that long ago, he was one of them. "Save the cocking for tomorrow," he comments, easily, grinning just as readily at his own entendre. "Speaking of, yes, what delight do you have in that cup?" He glances, sidelong, at the entrance of a couple of his fellow pilots, but doesn't move aside from the absent drumming of fingers on the table altering cadence slightly.
Eva trails in, not far behind Tucker, carrying a big tub of ice, in which the punch, glasses and a few other containers of unmentionable things have been stored to keep chill. A tsk as Eva hears the raptor stick's question, "Well, of course I am. And then wait until the Saturnalia auction. I am going to raise some serious money for charity." Totally for charity. And not so she can surprise Aubrey with them at every opportunity. Since they're coming in close to where the two marines and the LT are sitting, Eva excuses herself, just enough to slip past Tavo, "Remember...if she asks, you don't know anything."
"Apollo's balls! Who did this? Who!?" That shriek has to be from Banshee, and just reinforces her call sign that much more. There is a ripping sound as one of the posters comes down off a wall outside, and then Aubrey stomps into the lounge holding the incriminating evidence in one hand. She tries her best to hold the furious expression, but it only happens for about ten seconds, before she busts out into laughter. "Come on, couldn't you at least have used the Miss June one from the Picon Surfer Girls Calender of 2232?"
Tavo looks sidelong at Rothschild's comment-of-multiple-meanings, then shakes his head and lets it lie. Alain's advice draws a low chuckle. And then his choice of drinks is being questioned -- and stolen, and he grunts, narrowing his eyes at the Leonese, "Scorpian Rum. Not for pansy Leonese." And then he relents just a moment, for all that he never made any move to stop her, "But Marines can drink it." Nodding up toward a nearby cupboard for Alain, he sits forward in his chair, digging out a flask from a back pocket, "Get yourself a cup if you want." The procession of pilots draws his eyebrows up, and he notes, "I have a feeling it's going to get very rocket-jock in here." Eva's 'request' draws an easy nod from the big man, but before he can actually answer, the Banshee is proving her name.
"There she is now!" Standing up and clapping, Tucker whistles for the new Ace. "Way to shoot them down, Banshee!" he calls out in a hoot. "I'm sure they were standing at attention for you." there's a grin at that as he moves to make way for the Picon pilot to approach the table, and the 'liberally' applied frosting. "Eva's already calling dibs on the naughty bits."
Rothschild arches a brow slightly when the cake arrives and the punch and her mouth thins just slightly. Luckily, she is distracted from the whole affair when Tavo mentions that the Scorpian Rum isn't for Leonese pansies. She snorts at him indignantly and decides to take a cautious sip. She grimaces slightly, but manages not to croak her next words, "Pleasant." Then she is distracted once more by the sight of Eva and Tucker, and eventually Aubrey. She watches, brow slightly arched.
There's a long pause -- like Alain's not sure if he's included in the invite to drink. An exhale might be visible as he pushes up and over to the cupboard to secure a mug for himself. "Just a splash," he says, easily, as he sets the mug down next to the marine's. Alain's brows rise at the words from Eva, glancing back over his shoulder as he hears Banshee's shriek. "Huh," he says, after a beat, inspecting said evidence. "I think it looks good. But if you think there's a better photo then," he gestures, "You should definitely show the rest of us for comparative purposes."
Eva, lifting her head as she years Banshee's dulcet tones, looks over as the rook no more comes in, "That was had way too little cleavage." Trust Eva, she looks out for these things. "If you ask me to choose between tits and ass, it's going to be tits every time." Of course, tis also raises the question of how Eva managed to acquire a Picon Surfer Girl calendar, but maybe better not to ask, "Congrats, Banshee. You deserve all of it." She glances to Jigger, flashing the pilot a grin, as she gestures him over, if he chooses, and also Tavo and Rothschild, "There's cake." Because that's all she should have to say!
Aubrey makes her way to the cake and her eyes light up. "If I'd known it'd get me cake, I wouldn't have taken 9 whole days to get here!" she declares. She shoulder-bumps Eva before she sticks a finger in the icing where the raider kill marks are and sucks the confection off. "Yum, I love the taste of dead toasters!" She winks at Alain, "I think If you check some of the Marine's bunks, they've been collecting."
"It's no Siren's Song," Tavo cautions Rothschild and Alain, and then he chuckles at the Leonese woman's reaction. When Alain returns with a mug, the Scorpian leans forward to pour the requested splash into the mug. Against his best intentions, Eva's claim to preference causes him to glance over to Rothschild, and then he just chuckles, noting to the group in general, "There might be a few copies floating around the barracks." Which are properly called berthings on a ship. Which he knows. He just doesn't care. As the Marines are offered cake, Tavo glances down to his flask a moment, then sighs a touch and hefts it up, offering it with a shake. "Congratulations, sir." Since he hasn't been introduced.
"Plenty of cake for everyone." Tucker adds as he moves back, taking one of the cups of punch as he heads over to the electric keyboard he had set up earlier to settle behind it to play a jaunty little jazzy tune, just to pick up the party. "And if you haven't met the girl of the hour, Eva can handle the introductions, the cake was her idea." As for the poster? No comment.
The Leonese seems a touch reluctant, but she becomes a follower out of instinct to join the celebration of the new Ace. Rothschild chuckles slightly at Tavo's respectfulness, combined with the offer of booze. She nods to Aubrey as she offers her light smile. "Congratulations, Lieutenant." The Marine then casts a glance toward Tucker and the small electric keyboard. The chosen tune has her brows arching slightly.
What better way to celebrate -- Scorpian Rum and cake. Of course, Alain does cough just a little at the first gulp from his mug. "Good... stuff," he croaks briefly, with a nod of thanks to Tavo. He pushes up quickly enough and strolls over towards Aubrey, leaning past her to eye the cake with no small amount of appreciation. "Your work?" his brows flicker upwards in surprise as he glances from Tucker to Eva. "Well," he clears his throat, before he lifts his mug in an echo of Gustavo's toast. "To Banshee."
Eva is a person who knows person, yes she is! Or, at least, she likes to make it a habit of knowing whom exactly is sharing the title of Timber Wolf with her, as she does indeed handle the introductions all around, waving generally in the direction of the name to whom the person belong, "Staff Sergeant Gustavo Delgado, Gunner. Lieutenant Alain Tomlinson, Viper, called 'Jigger'. Lieutenant JG Tucker Carrington, Raptor pilot, called "Flats". Staff Sergeant Eudora Rothschild, also a Gunner. Lieutenant Jg Aubrey Naxos, called "Banshee". Viper and newest Ace. Captain Evangeline, Thorne, viper. Called Cherry, but I also answer to Smackdown, Jr." A snort, of amusement at Alain's question, "Look at me, how could I not know how to make a cake. or at least order one."
"Ugh, no sirs and Lieutenants, please," Aubrey insists. "Not outside of a formal thing at least. It makes me twitchy." The surfer girl isn't used to having responsibility. "Banshee or Aubrey is fine." She gets herself a glass of punch and raises it for the toast, adding, "And to killing toasters."
"It's easier than 'Hey you,' Banshee." Tavo shifts easily enough to the callsign when it's provided, although he looks a little awkward standing around the cake table, perhaps as if being careful not to knock into anyone or anything. "To killing toasters." He takes a swig straight from the flask since his cup was stolen, then caps it and tucks it back into his pocket to slowly edge his way around to the cake. He points sidelong to Rothschild, adding for the benefit of the others, "The Praetorian of Trenoir. You've probably seen her on recruiting posters." Because he's decided to be that mean. And he's decided he deserves cake for doing so, as he gathers himself a piece.
Glancing at Rothschild, Tucker considers her for a moment, "Didn't recognize you without the victory rolls and devil red lipstick." he offers casually as he continues to play along, and raises his brow back at the female Gunner. "Got a request? They cost a chit." he says with a small chuckle.
Through the toast, the Praetorian nods in agreement. "Yes. Five down, another million or so to go." Rothschild narrows her eyes as Gustavo, but all she does is take a bit of icing from Tavo's piece, and consumes it right off her finger. "We never get cake for killing Cylons." She does take her own cup of punch however. At Tucker's belated recognition, she gives her drawn-up hair a light toss. "Not at all regulation." Her mouth quirks. "Though I'm sure I'll get gussied up for some reason or another. The Brass do love finding ways to show off." She then considers the piano again, and she chuckles then. "Well, if you know any Tauran Jazz, but I'm afraid I only deal in bags of laundry." She seems somewhat amused by this.
Alain waggles a finger at the Captain, presumably in admonition. "That's cheating. And here I was going to give you points." For what, who knows. She's not getting them now! He throws back the remainder of the contents of the mug, grimacing. He's not much of a drinker, it would appear. "Plenty more of that, soon enough," he adds, all-too-cheerfully, to Aubrey.
"How about an autographed picture? I have a friend that would probably give me a good deal for one of those." Tucker is that guy that knows a guy, as he considers, "Sag jazz isn't that much different than Tauran - they both share the same roots.." he admits, considering for a moment as he goes through his mental catalogue before finally settling on a tune.
Tavo looks down as Rothschild violates his slice of cake, frowning dourly. Before his fork touches cake, it snaps out, trying to swat the back of the other gunner's hand. Then he notes, "Of course not. Raiders are faster targets." There's a beat pause, and notes, quietly, "Plus they'd run out of cake." At Rothschild's suggested currency, the big man adds, "Careful," he runs through the list of callsigns in his head, "Flats. She's liable to roll in the mud if she knows someone else is doing her laundry."
"I thought you looked familiar," Aubrey admits, smiling at Rothschild. "Glad they didn't wrangle me or Abbie into that stuff. I discovered I'm way happier behind a camera than in front of one, and way, WAY, happier in a Viper." She begins chomping on some cake.
"Now that's just uncharitable, Jigger." But Eva doesn't seem at all put out by the fact that she seems to have dropped down in Alain's mental leader board. Instead, she settles in to doing something mildly domestic and slicing up cake and handing out punch. It's a big cake, and Eva seems intent on sharing it with as many of the folk in the lounge as possible, "So what're going to do with your new found fame, Banshee?"
Rothschild snorts at Tavo. "Our bet did not entail the state of the laundry." Then she offers that winning smile to Tucker, and she nods. "I can do that." Then she listens to the selected tune, head tilted slightly. She is only distracted from listening when Aubrey mentions her gratitude of not getting stuck in PR, and Rothschild chuckles wryly. "Well. There's always time, I'm sure." She almost seems a touch uncomfortable, but she does not linger long as she takes another sip of punch.
"Know any Gemenon tunes?" Alain wonders of Tucker, as he listens. "Might be fun to blast them in the cockpit while I shoot down toasters," he guesses, with a grin. He sets down his mug -- apparently not intending to try any more of that rum -- before claiming a slice of cake for himself. "So's cheating, Cherry," he replies easily to Eva, chuckling, before glancing curiously at Aubrey.
"Anyway, why would I play her music and do her laundry?" Tucker asks with a lift of his brow. "And I wouldn't wish a pilot's flight suit on anyone after a couple of days of CAPs on Canceron." he points out. "There's only HVAC to keep the consoles from overheating, not pilot comfort."
"I have no frakking clue. Get laid? Get free drinks? An ace and a couple cubits can get me a cup of coffee back on Picon," Aubrey says with a chuckle. She smiles back at Alain because come on, it's Jigger!
Tavo starts chowing down on his slice of cake, nodding his approval to Eva after the first bite. He... doesn't eat delicately or slowly. Just eats. Between bites, he notes to Rothschild, "That one didn't. Next one will." Looking back to Tucker, he shrugs a little helplessly, "Just letting you know what you were getting into." He chuckles alongside that, then looks to Aubrey, "I'm sure there are plenty of pretty people down on the planet who would be happy to spend some time with an Ace. Especially if you have a leather flight jacket and a pair of those gold-rimmed sunglasses."
"I think Banshee's offering to show you her gunnery skills, Jigger." Tucker offers with a grin towards the two Viper jocks.
Rothschild finishes off her punch, and crumples up the cup before she lightly throws it into the wastebin. She glances up toward Tucker, and again, her winning smile is in place. "Well, often it does happen where two favors are offered in hopes of a bigger one later." Then she starts to consider a piece of cake, but then silently rejects the idea as soon as it gains traction. Someone is perhaps trying to avoid a sweet tooth problem. She looks back up to pilots. "I would imagine that on Picon being an Ace is a far bigger deal that you are giving it credit."
"Only a single coffee? For shame. You ought to at least wrangle your way up to a bottle of something," Alain tells Aubrey, with a nod. "You'd get at least that if it were your birthday." He snaps his fingers at Tavo's words, nodding readily, "Yes. Sunglasses," he agrees, as if that's the sole thing she's missing to complete her outfit. Tucker's addition earns a cough, one he can't even blame on the drink, although there is the cake, "Bit dry," he croaks in a not-very-great-distraction.
Aubrey laughs and shoulder bumps Alain. "Well he's cute enough. A little old for me though, don't you think?" she teases.
With everyone served, Eva makes her way to a free spot, to watch the festivities, and to listen to good music. A hand rises, as she listens to the interplay between the gathered, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Although, at Tucker's comment...and Jigger's reply, that hand now covers a snort of laughter. Eyes dancing, she looks over Alain, "Oh, no. No."
There's a wink at the pair, and for a moment he plays a bit of the dread of every Marine and Air Winger in the 'single' category, the Gemenese Wedding March, before he continues back into the jazz, reaching over to take a drink. Alain did ask if he knew any Gemenese songs.
Tavo offers a 'you're welcome' sort of nod to Alain in response to the sunglasses note, but then looks around the group of pilots and the suggestions being thrown around, stepping back to clear any lines of fire.
The Leonese snorts slightly at the interplay, and slips into a seat now that she's tired of standing. "It might be either of yours only hope, as I sense that shoreleave is eons off from this point." She props up her cheek on her knuckles, a bit of forelock still too long to rightly secure in her ponytail languishing across her cheek. She casts a glance toward the silent, awkward Tavo, and offers him a wink.
This is not going well. Alain takes the shoulder-bump with good enough humor, though he does give his fellow viper pilot a wry look. "Back in my day," he begins, complete with old-man-voice. Someone stop him. (Also stop Tucker, while you're at it.)
"So if Cherry and Farmboy are mom and dad, is Jigger, gramps?" Aubrey asks with a grin. "I'm just playing with you, Jigger. It's all good. Don't let them egg you on."
"Never. he's like my favourite adult son. Just call him Uncle Alain." Just to be even creepier. "It might stick." Eva sets aside the punch, as well as the cake, which, you know, cake. "We really are rooting for you, Banshee. To come out of the gate so strong, you're a credit to the Wolves."
Tavo still has his plate and fork in hand, not having put them down anywhere yet. He eyes the cake a moment, as if contemplating a second piece, then looks back up again in time to catch Rothschild's wink. His brows rise slightly and he tries to re-engage with the conversation, "And I thought Marine platoons got twisted." There's a chuckle behind the words, though, "At least we've just got the Old Man or the Old Lady... plus the top kick." First Sergeant.
Finishing the music for now, Tucker turns off the piano and goes to collect a piece of cake. "Don't stay out too late, kids." he offers to the others. "Tomorrow's the last call for Canceron, if the scuttlebutt holds true."
"Pass me a cane." Alain shakes an imaginary one in Cherry's direction. "Or... actually, mom, want to give me a loan?" With a flashed grin. He looks somewhat relieved the topic's shifting away, giving an easy grin to Aubrey. "I'll let it slip this once, because it's your day. Tomorrow though..." he gives a shrug of shoulder. Who knows what could happen! Frankly though, he doesn't seem overwhelmingly convincing, especially when his expression changes at Tucker's reminder.
"Yeah, speaking of, I better get myself back to my bunk and get my beauty sleep so I can be bright and ready to pop some more toasters tomorrow," Aubrey says cheerfully. She gives Cherry a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks for the party, you're the best, Mom!" She reaches over to ruffle Alain's hair on her way out.
"This," Eva indicates Tucker with a general wave of her hand, as he starts winding the part down, "Is precisely why I never let him drive." But she is, also, eventually going to need to get ready for the debrief tomorrow, and she rises, to clean away the detritus of the makeshift party. She does indeed take the frosting boobies. But most of the cake she leaves for anyone who wants it. The punch too. Never let good booze go to waste.
Rothschild begins to feel as she often does around pilots: the odd one out. Tavo's attempt to re-engage has her at least offering a ghost of a smile. Then she looks up as Aubrey offers up her farewells, and she nods. "Congratulations again, Banshee." She caught the callsign this time, filing it away. Then she glances over toward Tucker at his note of Canceron, and she offers a single nod. "Well, we'll see how easy sleep comes. Since the Uprising, sleep is certainly harder to find."
Tavo nods his agreement with Rothschild's re-congratulating of the new ace, then moves over to deal with his dishes as folks start to break up. As he comes back to the apparently-splintering group, he reaches out to take his mug back from Rothschild, "Then this is mine again. Unless you need a hangover to get mean. Which I don't think you do."
Under a shock of (now unruly) hair, Alain makes a face to Aubrey's back, before he proceeds to pointedly enjoy the cake made in her honor. He does feel obliged to help out Eva with the cleaning up, murmuring, "This was a nice idea," to her. He himself seems content to pass on the punch, glancing briefly over as he overhears Rothschild's comment with a sympathetic grimace.
"I never get mean. That is not very Leonese." Rothschild offers a quirk of a smile to that, though she does take one more sip before she offers up the mug back up to the Scorpian. She catches the sympathetic grimace from Alain, and she offers him a light smile. "Good to have solidarity around that, hm? A well-slept marine... or pilot... I think is a myth."
"We've been trying to do something, every time a pilot makes Ace." But not double, or triple or anything. That would just be excessive. "He'll lie and say it wasn't him, but it was all Tucker's idea." Yes, Evs just threw him under the bus. "I'm going to head back to the deck, I think, I've got the alert five coming up. Catch you after a while." A smile, for Alain, and then to the two marines, "Sergeants. Thank you for celebrating with us. And you for conspiring, Flats."
"Me? Nope, not a clue." Tucker offers with a casual smile. "Anyway, enjoy the cake." Because clearly Rothschild is waiting to be alone with that cake.. to do bad bad things. Clearly! "I'm gonna hit the bunk after checking on Cate. See you around."
Tavo forebears from stealing his mug back so that Rothschild can have one more sip, then gathers it up -- not that there's much left, since there wasn't much to begin with -- and cradles it in his big hands. "It might not be very upper-class Leonese, but I've heard the stories." He is Scorpian, after all, and they were rather recently occupied by the Virgons and Leonese. Still, he doesn't seem all that put-out by it, more teasing than anything else. "Unless you're recon. They tend to sleep on the flying-death-trap... I mean Raptor, on the way down." He nods to Eva when she's called out, "Thanks for the cake..." again, he hesitates for the callsign, then brings it into his memory, "Cherry."
"That's definitely the one thing that didn't change, at least for me," Alain offers to Rothschild. "There's something in that," he agrees, as he brushes his hands against his trousers after cleaning up some of the cups. Nodding towards Eva after her words, he glances at Tucker, grins, and adds, "See you all in the morning." After a nod to the pair of marines, he strolls out not long after his fellow pilots.
Rothschild watches as the pilots start to disperse. "Good luck tomorrow," she offers as they retreat. She does glare slightly at the cake left behind, and very purposefully stands so she can abandon it properly for someone else to deal with. She looks to Tavo, nods to his cup, and then to the hatch. "Humor me for a moment." The Leonese tilts her head as she offers him a light smile. "Would you like to go for a walk?"