2237-07-04 - Elsewhere On Picon

Date: 2237-07-04

Location: Elsewhere On Picon

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 209

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When they send in two Gunners and a couple of other Marines, it usually means one of two things -- they want something heavy moved or they want a lot of lead to go downrange very quickly. In this case, it's the former: a bunch of crates need to be unloaded from a Raptor, which will dart away. Then the Marines get to wait until Picon trucks arrive to pick them up. Eventually, the Raptor will be back for them.

Tavo helped unload readily enough, now he's leaning back against one of the big crates of supplies, his SAW butt-down alongside him. Whistling softly and more-or-less tunelessly, he picks at the gravel beach beneath him, tossing little rocks at a piece of driftwood further down the beach. There is a ring of Marines further out, keeping watch, but the big guns at least are being held as reserves.

Eudora Rothschild is sauntering down the beach with the kind of gait that is much more suited for loose fabrics, a big floppy-hat, and bare feet. But, instead, she is decked out like a Colonial marine, including the flak jacket and hat tugged low over her eyes. She approaches Tavo where he lounges, and she offers him up a fresh cantine as she gets close. "Sadly, it is not rum." Then she turns to she can settle into the crate beside him. She glances out across the ocean in its calm, rhythmic waves, and one brow arches slightly. "Quite an impressive spit of beach. Quite almost."

Tavo looks up as Rothschild approaches, chuckling faintly, "The beachcomber look is a good one. Even if it's a bit ruined by the fatigues." He reaches up to take the canteen and take a swig of the water inside, "I have that if we need it. But until we're going home, that seems like a bad idea." Her compliment for the beach draws a shrug, "I might be spoiled. But this is a bit rocky for me. No palms, no sand."

"You are extremely spoiled. So typical of Scorpians." The Leonid smirks slightly toward the man before she takes a swig of her own water. She settles the canteen against her belly, tapping a finger against the exterior thoughtfully. She watches the other marines, looking about as bored as they are. She looks up toward Tavo now. "I like the rocky beach, but definitely not for lounging around on. It can be quite pleasant just to hike along." She considers the big man beside her now.

"Yeah, because we Scorpians are known for being spoiled brats." Tavo extends his left elbow to give her side a little nudge. Looking back out over the shallows, he grunts thoughtfully, "I mean, it looks pretty, but yeah, like you said, it's kind of worthless for lounging or for playing games or for... well, most anything but looking at." Flashing a bit of a grin, he adds, "Worst kind of pretty thing."

Rothschild arches up a brow at the man again, but this time with a playful smile tugging at her lips. She takes another swallow from her canteen before she caps it and slings it back onto her belt. She tilts her head slightly, rubbing at the back of her neck. "But quite pretty," she repeats. Then she quirks a smile up at him. "Hmph. And what kind of pretty thing am I then?" Now she's teasing him.

"As soon as I opened my big mouth, I knew you were going to ask that." Tavo shakes his head in resigned amusement, looking away from her and out over the landscape again. He's silent for a long moment, then finally responds earnestly enough, "The kind of pretty thing that can kick ass, and still hasn't said anything about what she likes doing in her downtime besides laundry."

Rothschild starts to laugh at his resigned comment, and then she shakes her head as she adjusts her lean against the crate. She waits for his answer, and then she shakes her head slightly at his response. She purses her lips slightly. "Hmph." Then she squints a bit at the sun reflecting off the ocean. "Well. We have certainly figured out that I don't watch Pyramid." Then she shakes her head. "I like jazz." She looks at him now, expression a bit amused. "Tauron jazz. If there's a jazz club, I love going. I also enjoy gardening. I have a degree in historical botany."

"Not yet," is Tavo's response to the comment about Pyramid, but it comes with a chuckle. His brows rise at the actual response, tossing a pebble at his extended boot. "Tauran jazz. Most people would be surprised that the Praetorian likes Tauron jazz." And then he flashes a grin aside at her, "Not me, of course. So do you play too? In addition to gardening and being a big plant nerd."

Rothschild puffs out a breath, and there's a faint chortle there as well. She gestures a bit. "I sing. I could never really make the time to play an instrument, but I enjoy singing." She shifts her shoulder a bit. "And I like Tauron jazz because of my father. He listened to a lot of the greats while I was growing up, and we would frequent clubs when I was older. Leonis is not so stuffy as to not showcase the cultural contributions of other Colonies."

"A singer." Tavo glances to the nearest of the other Marines and bites back a comment -- one that was likely rather cheeky if his grin is any indication. Nodding slowly, the big man listens intently, "Your father, of course. The Foreign Legionnaire from Tauron." Still, he snorts at her claims about Leonis' lack of stuffiness, "Yeeeeah. Right." His grin twists up at one corner as he teases her, "Because Leonis is known for being easy-going and loosey-goosey."

"I didn't say that," Rothschild protests easily with a wry smile at her lips. Then she glances across the beach soon after his own glance, and she shakes her head a bit. "I know Leonis is stuffy and uptight, but we are not all bad." There is a light note there, though it easily hides a small sense of smothered pride. She straightens up from her lean. "Now, your turn. What is it that Gustavo enjoys beyond Pyramid?" She quirks a brow then. "Because surely there is more to you than just the Scorpian Army and Pyramid."

"No, not all of you," Tavo is willing to admit that easily enough, chuckling as he does, "Scorpian Army is just because I couldn't stick with Pyramid." Still, he tosses another pair of rocks out beyond his feet, shrugging his broad shoulders a little helplessly, "I like just relaxing. Just spacing out. In a bath or a hot tub or something. But for doing things? I like bad action movies and parasailing, hiking in the jungles..." He flashes another grin, "You know, normal stuff."

"Normal stuff." Rothschild repeats this with a slow chuckle in her chest. "Mmph. Parasailing. Hiking. You like doing things... except for the spacing out and relaxing part." She looks over at him, brow arched again. "I don't think I could ever hike in the jungles again after Canceron, but I might be convinced." She sinks down into the crate once more, and she pulls off her hat, ruffling her forelocks a bit.

"Yeah, normal stuff." Tavo's repetition shows that he knows that his list isn't exactly normal. Her description of his preferences causes him to nod slowly, "Yeah. I like to be doing something, or very, very not doing something." The complaint about Canceron draws a grunt, "Not like that. Along paths. Nature preserves, that sort of thing. Hell, you'd probably like it, plenty of rare plants."

"Mm. I might like that." Rothschild tilts her head upward, looking at the sky with its shadowing clouds rolling in. She keeps a close eye on the patterns of the clouds, as if keeping an eye out for something more hostile. Then she dips her chin again, shifting from foot to foot before she considers something. "I wanted to become a homeopathetic doctor once upon a time. We used to be well-versed in all the ways plants can heal the body." She feels a strange warmth building in her cheeks, as if she's embarrassed by this. "My mother found it to be a niche interest that I would get over. And I suppose I did... I became a Marine instead."

"Might just," Tavo agrees. At her admission, his brows rise up slowly, and he grunts thoughfully, "Huh. And being a Marine isn't a niche interest?" There's a little light teasing there, but he doesn't seem ready to tease her about her previous interest, instead asking, "Have you talked to any of the medics or docs? I wonder if any of them do... homeo-whatever it is. Healing with plants, I'm assuming?" Evidently a year and two thirds of college doesn't teach you the word homeopathy. At least not when you're majoring in pyramid.

"It is the closest I could get to practicing herbalism without actually going to Gemenon, but," then Rothschild shakes her head, waving her hand dismisssively. "No, I have no wish to become that sort of burden. Our medical staff knows exactly what it is doing, and it has been a good decade since my studies. I'll just keep it as an interest. Nothing else." She crosses her arms, though she's relaxed about it.

"Oh... I didn't mean to give them advice. I just meant to have someone to talk plants with." Glancing up to the standing Leonid, Tavo squints a little against the bright light, chuckling softly and digging out an energy bar. "Because I don't know much more than 'what's pretty,' and 'what the tourists ask about on jungle hikes.' Made a couple of extra bucks over the summer leading them when I was in secondary school."

"Oh." Rothschild actually looks almost interested in that premise, and she shifts her shoulders back and forth a bit. "I suppose that's something else entirely." She catches the edge of her lip with her teeth, nodding more or less to herself. Then she brushes her hands back across her hair one more time before she caps her hat back over her dark hair once more. She pauses then, squinting at Tavo. "Really? I took one of those hikes when I was about seventeen. We were visiting Scorpia the summer before my last year of secondary school."

Tavo grins up at her, unwrapping the energy bar idly. He's on the edge of saying something self-satisfied, and then he bites down on the energy bar instead, chewing and swallowing, "Yeah? Where was that? Not Celeste, was it? I mean, Celeste is a real big place anyhow." He shakes his head, casting aside the curiosity, "What did you think of your visit?"

"Hmm." Rothschild rubs a bit at her jaw, thinking back into her distant past -- before the Colonial Forces, before Trenoir, before university. "Celeste. I think it was." She looks over at him then, squinting as she tries to pull through her own memories. Then she shakes her head, slumping back into the crates. "I loved it. It was so different from home." She tilts her head then, hooking her hand over a shoulder, rubbing at it. "I had only ever been in the cities, or my grandparents' farm."

Tavo's eyebrows rise sharply as she confirms the trip to Celeste, and he takes another bite, then pulls the energy bar out of its wrapper, breaking off the 'back' half and offering it out to Rothschild, "Then you were probably in the same area I was running my tours. We were a bit up the coast from the city. Glad you liked it, since it's pretty much the only place we're likely to see except wherever we're fighting for a while."

"Maybe so." Rothschild starts to laugh then, leaning back into the crate. "Do you remember an awkward, gawky teenage girl who had not yet come into herself at all, probably moping behind her parents who were far too excited?" She shakes her head then before she offers a soft sigh of amusement. "Yes, I know. I figure you can take opportunities to show me around before they decide to station us elswhere."

Tavo laughs at her question, shaking his head, "Only about fifty of them." There's a pause, and he adds, "And I only did it for two summers." He takes another bite of his half of the energy bar, giving the half extended to her a little heft to get her attention. Chewing and swallowing, he continues, "Probably wouldn't be any journos out in Windward territory. Most people who don't live nearby mostly like to forget about us."

"Mm. Just imagine. You could have met me decades ago." Then the Leonese finally takes the offered energy bar. She turns it around in her fingers a few times before she takes a bite, and chews through it before she speaks again. "Hmm. Well. Perhaps you could make something work and you can show me the jungles of Celeste again."

Tavo laughs easily at her comment, shaking his head, "You remember what I said about 16-year-old Tavo? Probably good you didn't meet him." There's a pause, and then he adds, "And bullshit decades." Someone never looked up Rothschild's personnel jacket. "We'll have to get a pass longer than twenty-four hours, probably. I'm sure we can manage that though."

"Mmhmm. Decades." Rothschild finds herself smiling ever so lightly. "I am a good four to five years your senior, darling." Then she looks aside, taking another bite of the shared energy bar. Then she nods agreeably to his suggestion, and she starts to straighten. "Make it so, Delgado." She quirks a smile at him before she starts to step away. "How many hours do you think we have left?"

Tavo grunts in surprise, "Then you're remarkably well-preserved," teasing laughter enters his voice then, "darling." He polishes off his half of the bar, crumpling up the wrapper and tucking it into a pocket of his webbing. "Here? Don't know. The trucks should be here any time. Raptor's back a little while after we load them up."

Rothschild shoots him a dirty look. "Remarkably." Then she snorts before she starts to circle the crates. "Well, then we should find something else to occupy our time beyond talking about how old I am..."

Tavo tilts his head to watch her for a moment, and then chuckles, "You're looking at it wrong. We're talking about how young I think you look." Still, he pushes himself up to his feet, gathering up his SAW and ducking into its sling. Bet you miss that log first." And he holds out a rock just sized for throwing. Thankfully, the bet doesn't need to happen, because one of the other Marines calls in a contact report, Picon Hummers on their way in. "Or, we can just get to work. Sorry, you'll have to go back to dreaming about Celeste," he teases, "instead of trying to get me to talk about it."

Tavo tilts his head to watch her for a moment, and then chuckles, "You're looking at it wrong. We're talking about how young I think you look." Still, he pushes himself up to his feet, gathering up his SAW and ducking into its sling. "Bet you miss that log first." And he holds out a rock just sized for throwing. Thankfully, the bet doesn't need to happen, because one of the other Marines calls in a contact report, Picon Hummers on their way in. "Or, we can just get to work. Sorry, you'll have to go back to dreaming about Celeste," he teases, "instead of trying to get me to talk about it."


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