2237-07-04 - Nix On The Up Top

Lanval, A New Recon Marine, Finds His Home In The Berthings In The Company Of Friendly Faces And Bitchy Marine Banter.

Date: 2237-07-04

Location: Berthings

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 207

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T-minus...hours? Many marines, Kyle Costello included, have been put into 'HURRY UP AND WAIT' mode while remaining on-hand for an upcoming drop. When this happens, the results are always the same: Don't go anywhere (easy to do on a ship), don't do anything exerting that might injure you (which rules out the gym), and be ready when called (which rules out...hiding). It's hell on the mind, makes the clock tick slowly, all with in the confides of a floating can in space.

And it's KILLING Kyle Costello.

"Urrrrrgggghhhh-" Kyle death rattles from her top bunk, just above and to the tail end of the tables that line the center of the bunk house. She's there, wearing her workout shorts and off-duty tanks, hanging upside down to stick out of her bunk with a pyramid ball in hands.

The ball is thrown up...and caught. Thrown again? And caught. Each repetition has a little harder a throw and a little extra lean to grab the ball from an awkward throw, but for her, the HURRY UP AND WAIT period is spent like a lonely stepchild...

...playing catch. With herself.

<FS3> Lanval rolls Alertness: Good Success (8 8 6 6 5 5 5 4 4 2 2 1)

The Raptor carrying in fresh transfers arrived a little over an hour ago. But it only had one transfer, really. After stepping off the transport, Lanval went through the process of dropping off paperwork, meeting the head NCO, a medical follow up - which he kept really short and sweet before getting a final clearance. Still dressed in the woodland camoflauge that is indicitive of the Leonis Marines, he has his duffle slung over his shoulder as he quietly makes his way into the berthings, glancing for where he was assigned.

When the ball goes careening off the wall and just out of Kyle's reach on one of her rather harder throws, the young man barely flinches as he catches the pyramid ball in his one hand and turns to offer it back to her with a quick smile and movement to continue on his search.

Like as not, Astraea has been given transport duty due to her... recent predilection for damaging Raptors. Well, less damaging and leaving barely usable for parts. Sure, she's had two of six outings with nary but grazed wings (such as last night), but the other four involved a blown bird, a crash landing, and two missile hits that left her limping back to the Vanguard. It's not a good record and so she's playing the role of bus driver for a bit... which is grating for Nova. Particularly when her passengers might as well be sacks of potatoes for all the conversation they provide before, during, and after transit. She made a side trip before returning to the barracks and is only back just now herself with a few things from the Mess Hall; primarily sandwiches and a can of some soda or another. The latter is opened as she takes a long drink. The woman is still in her flight suit, though it's been drawn back to her waist.

Despite even her best stretch, Kyle fails to catch, and as her abdominal muscles tighten in the first signs of a 'crunch' to right herself, the ball is offered to her from a face unknown. Kyle drops back to her upside-down hang to blink, perplexingly, at Lanval. Faces? So much more difficult to recognize while upside down. "Thank you...new guy?" Kyle takes a stab in the dark and looks over his uniform, trying to find pins she understands. She takes the ball from his hand and offers the man a weak, upside-down frown. "Astraea?" Kyle catches her in her periphery. "Did you just bring this new guy in? One sec-" Kyle pulls her toes against a rung on the inside of her bunk, twisting and turning to upright herself; a much better option than falling head over ass onto the table beneath her.

There's a little shrug offered in response from the new guy, as Kyle so polietly calls him. Looking at the sheet of paper that he holds in his hands, Lanval looks rather confused for a moment before he turns his attention to the small metal plaque on the side of the bunk and then back to the others. After a moment, he asks in a light tone. "M-Bottom?" A bunk assignment, apparently as he continues to look around. Joy of joys, Astraea is even getting the chatterbox as a neighbor.

A few more moments pass by in the silence of Kyle's question, before he finally responds. "Corporal Lanval Whittaker. Recon." It's hard to place the Leonid accent as quiet as his tone is, but hey, he offered up a proper introduction as he goes to search out the bunk he's looking for. "Told to be ready for a mission."

"Uh-huh," Astraea answers Kyle as she pauses by her bunk. She juggles the sandwiches and soda into one hand as she yanks at her locker to open it. For all that her bunk itself is fairly spartan, her locker is a bit of a jumbled mess. She's prone to just throwing things within and slamming the door closed and praying it actually stays closed. Sometimes yes, sometimes no. If and when they have an inspection, she's frakked. There's a look to Lanval, then back to Kyle. She blinks once, then back to the now-less-new Caprican marine. Nova lifts one shoulder in a shrug as she sets her small lunch on the shelf in her locker. "Looks like he's onna yers, Costello." Hands freed, she begins the process of wriggling out of her flight suit. Laces of boots are undone first, kicking them atop the laundry bag in the bottom of the locker. She bends over, then, wriggling out of the flight suit itself.

"Yes, he's one of mine, and I'm overjoyed at how cheeky he is, already," Kyle grunts from within the curtain of her bunk. Swinging back out, right side up, her bare feet make quick work of the ladder's rungs, all of the way down to the floor. She slinks to the edge of her bunk and looks around the corner to a top-bunk down the row, one lined with memorial letters yet to be cleaned out, boxed, and returned to next of kin. "But it's not one of those weeks, I guess. Would probably be a bad time for him to jump in, all smiles, anyway-"

Kyle frowns to Astraea, a tight-lipped subliminal look for the recently dead. It's time to stop talking about Lanval like he's not there. Thus, Kyle turns with a hand extended.

"Corporal Kyle Costello, Recon as well and no longer the newest team member. Looks like I'm your welcome wagon." Kyle pauses a beat, clearing her throat into her fist. "We're on standby, so..." ThunkThunk. Kyle pounds a fist on his bunk. "Get comfortable and try to not look at the clock, because we'll know when they know."

There's a look at the hand and it take a moment before he accepts it. "Thank you." Lanval offers with a light poilteness to his voice. There was a glance at the bunks strewn with memorials and tears yet to be shed as he addressed the thanks to both womenm apparently, before shaking Kyle's hand firmly and releases it as he looks at the bunk he's been assigned. Hefting the bag into it, he starts his own process of undressing to get into his mission gear. The comment about looking at the clock draws a momentary smile. It's nice to have time again, and safety, and it's still something he's getting used to as he removes the Leonese jacket to set it aside on the bunk and starts to work on his boots and pants.

Parts of his skin are marred - jagged scars, ones that never got proper medical treatment, and had to be treated in the field and on the run. Either that or a really crappy doctor's been taking care of him as of late. There's no personal effects. No little things that make his bunk his. It seems everything he has is a reissue of fresh gear.

After the last mission there's been a lot of sleep to be had by Bami, and the ECO's taken full advantage of not being called for Alert. He only got out a few hours ago for a trip to mess, and upon his return gives a quick wave and a happy smile to the gathered Timber Wolves. The Scorpian's dressed in his off-duties with dual tanks and a pair of sweat pants. In one hand he holds a deck of cards, and the other a few likely won cubits. His items are quickly stowed away as he approaches them, a bit more scrutiny and attention set Lanval's way. "Howdy," he says with another smile. "I take it you're new to the Vanguard to?"

The bunks yet to be cleared of the dead and made ready for those to occupy them anew. The other peril of war; knowing a ghost may be occupying the same space you sleep in. Astraea, for one, tries not to think about it. Tries not to even look at the bunks of those who have been lost much of the time. She gets out of the flight suit and hangs it up. Whatever mission is being waited on, it would seem, she is not the bus driver on call for. In dual-tanks and boy shorts, the Scorpian reaches for her soda and one of the sandwiches, twisting to lean on the locker itself for a moment to have a break for the mid-rats meal. She'll hopefully grab a proper one during the next meal time. The wrapping is peeled away from the sandwich and a bite taken as she glances towards Lanval and his things with only a brief glance for the marred skin. Most of them have scars; she herself bears those of shrapnel, indicative of surviving some explosion or another. "Not even a day off to settle in? That's a bit of ass." Her gaze slides to Bami and there's a bit of a smile and a greeting by way of raised can of soda.

Kyle takes a step back. She folds her arms behind her hips and rocks back and forth on them, watching the scars unveil on her new recon teammate's body. Her lips press out, like a duck's, at the sight of them. The funny look is cast over her shoulder to Astraea and Bami, eyes ever-widening in silent pantomime for WHOAAAA. "Yeap, he's one of mine, Raptor squad, which means no touching and no photography unless Recon gets a take." Kyle sarcasms out to the others, padding back until she's shoulder to her bunk's ladder, eyes on a swivel to keep track of them all. "And about to get thrown right into business, so this is going to be a learning experience. Just, um...don't be too chatty in the field, which doesn't appear to be a problem with you, Lanyard, and I'm sure whatever training you got to Qual for Recon should make everything work out." Beat. "Today at least."

Undressed to his boxers and double tanks, Lanval opens his pack to start taking the plastic and paper wrap off the newly assigned clothing. "Ready." he responds to Astraea's comment, his shoulders rising in a shrug at the idea of having to be ready for a mission the same day as arriving to the duty station. There's a nod given to Bami, though as more people start to show, he moves a little to give himself just a little more space as he works on setting out his gear to start assembling it together so that he can get it all prepared for the mission. At Kyle's comment, Lanval raises his hand for a moment to send her a brief thumbs up as he snaps the webgear into place and runs his fingers over the Colonial patch, before moving to unwrap the battle togs and start to pull them into place.

Bami doesn't initially catch the look from Astraea, but the warning gets a tilt of his head. "Well, I don't think there's much room in a Raptor for another gunner, but I was telling a few folks that one of the gunners wouldn't be too bad to deal with those frakking Raiders always crawling up our asses." A shrug follows that as he moves over to his own locker, and after tossing open the door starts shoving a few bits of his newly won prizes inside along with the deck of cards. "Snipers and recon wouldn't be bad either," he calls out from there. "Could deal with that pesky AA problem from time to time."

"I'm n'sure what a sniper could do versus an AA," Astraea notes towards Bami, features twisting into a bit of confusion. She takes another bite of her sandwich, trying to puzzle that one out. "But onna the big guys," like Tavo or Aleks, "throwin' grenades from th' back, now that I wanna see." The Air Crews make up for Recon chatter tenfold. But then, they have no need to be quiet. They spend all day BRRRRT-ing the countryside. She finishes off half a sandwich and turns back to her locker, grabbing a pair of BDUs to hop into. One leg at a time, balanced on her toes between each. "So, any word of what th' mission is?" She asks this of Kyle; assuming that Lanval either won't know or would answer in pantomime.

Kyle stares at Lanval's back. He's like an oddly shaped social obstacle, and Kyle can't figure out where to place her hands and feet. She clicks her tongue towards his held up thumb and dips her chin to her shoulder, looking to Bami and Astraea. "No word on the Op, yet, but I've been crawling through spiders and elk shit all month to mark out AA positions for you guys; which I'm more than happy to do. I imagine it beats the hell out of being chased by Cylons out in space." Kyle frowns, and glances in the direction of the deceased's bunk. Shit. "You keep flying us down there and we'll keep finding safer flight paths for you guys, right?" Kyle scrubs her hands up and down her arms, warming up, then turns for her locker.

"Lanval? Show and tell?" Kyle asks as the locker's door rattles. "Where you from, or am I currently ignoring some kind of not-here-to-make-friends signal?"

Stepping in from the outside, Paquette looks a bit lost in thought as he humms along with a song. He pauses as he sees the people present, trailing off. "Oh, hello..." he remarks, looking between the others.

Lanval's listening to the conversation around him, but it seems that he doesn't have anything that he feels is worth adding at the moment. Once he pulls on his jacket and shakes his head to Kyle to let her know that she's not getting the signal not to make friends. "Leonis." he finally offers up. "Served in the Marines." he finally offers up in a full sentence as he hears another new voice and glances towards Paquette, a nod offered to him as he starts to sort the gear to what he needs. "Not a sniper. Urban scout."

Bami's half hidden in his locker as he continues digging around for something. Anyone that looks inside'll see a mess of clothing set in a pile along with a few keepsakes from back home hung up - pictures of family, the old farm, and an older woman wearing Scorpian finery in the woods. The ECO pulls himself from there for a moment, turning to Paquette to give him a quick wave before diving back in. "Howdy." The cards are taken from his pocket after he finds an empty container filled with crumbs that really shouldn't be in there. "Well, good to know, Lanval. I was more thinking like givin' the snipers rocket launchers, but with scopes on 'em. Although a scout's a whole 'nother story."

"Th' SAMs ain't even been m'issue," Astraea notes, grabbing the rest of her meal before plunking herself down on Danielle's bunk. She doesn't feel like climbing up to her own right now. "Both times mah bird's ben destroyed planetside, it's been by a toaster carryin' a rocket launcher. Didn't know th'frakkers had so many of th' things." Her nose twitches slightly in frustration. "But I am lookin' forward ta some bombin' runs." She looks up to Paquette and Bami after a moment, but her query seems to include Kyle as well: "Any of ya know what sorta cake Halli and Gwyn might like? They both made Ace an' I wanna put somethin' t'gether fer 'em."

Kyle's locker closes and she comes free with a stack of military-issue clothing. She looks up to Paquette as he enters, jerking her head in an upwards nod and lips that mouth hello, but fail to say it. The clothing is set down on the table and Kyle begins to set aside one shirt, an extra pair of socks, all final preparations for a walk away into the war. "An imperial or not, an urban scout is something we could use. We've been picking through the rubble down there. I've got some experience in cities, but it wasn't my MOS." Kyle separates her stack and throws the rest back into her locker with a bang. "But I would love to pop open a hatch on a Raptor and throw shit at the Cylons. Surprise!" Kyle thumps her locker and drops into a chair. Sprawling, she crosses her legs at the ankles and rubs at her face.

"The frak." Kyle murmurs into her hands. "You guys get cake?" Harrumph. "Man, frak you brass. I got a ten mile hike in kit on my birthday."

"Leonis? Home sweet home," Paquette offers, before he pauses a bit at Astraea's words. "I'm not sure," he replies, after a few brief moments of pause. "It would seem we all know too little about each other." A brief grin offered to Kyle. "Could be worse. You could have ended up eating cake baked by me. I mean, there are many other meals I make well, but not that good with cakes."

There's an amused look for a moment from Lanval, as if considering Kyle sticking her ass out a Raptor to take a literal shit on a Raider. But that's dismissed quickly as the scout glances between the others and shakes his head. He doesn't know what flavor cake those people like, and he's not much of a baker either. A tilt of his head is offered curiously at Paquette, but it seems small talk isn't his thing, as he finishes assembling his webgear and settles to sit on the edge of his bunk to start to look over the few books that he was given to start to familiarize himself with everything he needs to know.

With that bit of sorting done and most of the mess left as is, Bami stands up straight to close the rest of his locker. He shoots a smile and nods in Kyle's direction. "See, now somebody's actually for it." His locker's soon shut, and then he moves to lean upon it. "And it's not that we get cake," he points out to Kyle. "Astraea bakes cakes for everybody, really." Then he turns his gaze to Paquette. "What kinda stuff can ya cook?"

"We get cake 'cause we make it happen," Astraea points out to Kyle, nonplussed. She kicks her feet out, leaning back a bit on the requisitioned bunk. Danielle will get it back, just with some added crumbs. "I've been bribin' th' galley crew so I can go in on m'off duty hours an' bake. Been usin' their supplies or orderin' some in. You could always sacrifice yer time an' cubits ta do th'same fer yer squadmates, ya know." There's a slight upward twitch to her lips. "Well, I'll play it safe. Couple'a cakes, mebbe a batch of cookies, joint party fer 'em both perhaps. Should make everyone happy." For Bami's words, she gestures his way, then adds: "Plus, ain't there someone on th'marine side who bakes? I though I heard there was. So shouldn't y'all be gettin' baked goods, too? I can't be makin' all th' Wolves fat by myself."

"Why would I wanna bake cakes for those shaved apes?" Kyle blurts out, lips widening into a grin when she says it. "Not that the rest of Recon wouldn't love cake. Everyone likes cake, really, but I'm not going to do the kitchen thing for them. They're marines. If they want cake they can do like the rest of the Marines do: steal supplies from the Navy and get the job done. BOOM. UP TOP, LANVAL." Kyle shoots a hand up with her palm out, trying on a new thing. A high five? Do they teach that on Leonis?

Kyle narrows her eyes, waiting for her high five.

"I swear to god, Lanval, if you don't hit this fucking hand, I'm gonna bake you into a G4 cake and throw you out of the back of a Raptor at one of those shitty computerbots that are clearly going to ruin the rest of my twenties."

"Dinner meals are what I like making the most," Paquette replies to Bami. "There are some of the traditional meals from Leonis I do very well, but those are the best ones." As he hears Kyle's reaction, he pauses as he looks from her to Lanval and back again, rather thoughtfully. Looking slightly amused.

There's a glance towards the hand that Kyle put up and the fact that she's doing it in celebration of a good burn. A brief look of concern passes over his features and an arch of his brow as he seems to be challenging her. Because maybe a G-4 cake sounds really frakking amusing as he shakes his head at the hand that Kyle's offering. No backup from recon bro on this one.

"Hey!" Bami calls out to Kyle. The ECO doesn't look the slightest bit hurt by her statements, but there is a mocking scoff from him. "You lot're lucky we need you to fight the good fight on the ground." He wags a finger her then before turning back to Paquette. "Well, man, ya gotta cook at some point. I'd even pay for it or buy the time in the galley. I ain't had a thing from Leonis, and I'd love to try it."

"If she weren't so scrawny," Astraea mumbles to Bami around her sandwich, "I'd say she's goin' on th' makeshift door list." The mental list that Nova keeps of which marines become a 'door' to the Raptor if it ever gets blown off. Currently, that list consists of one name: Aleksander. "I can make a few Leonese pastries," she notes to Paquette, "but prolly not on board. Kitchen ain't good fer 'em." She finishes off her 'meal' and brushes the crumbs off on her knees as she pushes herself back to her feet. "As fer th' food, it always seemed... I dunno. Rich to me. Felt like I wasn't fancy 'nough fer it. Y'know, someone was gonna come an' arrest me jes' fer eatin'."

Kyle holds her hand up. She waits. She waits some more. Red flushes up her cheeks as she slowly turns her head to look to Lanval. Her lips pull into a flat, taut line and her hand flops down to place at her side, a lifeless limb.

"And all that hiking and crawling without cake is going to keep me fit, not scrawny; frak you, new guy." Kyle laughs the end of her retort and turns back to the Naval staff, scrubbing at her face with her fingers, which is more of a smokescreen to hide her high-five-fail blush more than anything. "Ugh, okay, he's in the doghouse, but what is this about a door list and am I allow to throw this chair at you guys for making me hungry before I go off to do dangerous shit?" Kyle speaks up to be heard through her fingers. "I have a strict rule about not eating weird stuff before I go on an Op."

There's a long silence from Lanval's bunk, before finally, there's a quiet voice that speaks out from the Marine that's preparing.

"No thank you, Corporal."

Because clearly the 'frak you' was an offer, right?

A nod is given to Bami, with a grin, "Once we find a better kitchen, and some time, I promise I'll make something," he offers, before he grins at Astraea. "It can be a bit rich, but don't worry, we don't arrest people for eating. Spilling wine, maybe, but not eating." A look to Kyle again, and he studies her for a few moments, raising an eyebrow. "You're right, she looks a little scrawny..." he offers to Astraea and Bami, before he hears the exchange between Kyle and Lanval, and shakes his head a bit, with an amused expression.

Bami looks down at his own thin frame, and leaves out any mentions of Kyle's size. All he can offer to the Marine is a sympathetic smile and slight shrug of his shoulders. "No, chairs. Just grenades and maybe chucking the missle down yourself to hit the bastards." Then he looks over to Paquette, "I'd be willing to pay for the better stuff too if that's what it'll take, man. This sounds like something too good to pass up."

"Y'call it fit, I call it scrawny. Y'ain't got any meat on yer bones," says the pilot who is a few steps below Eva for 'plump' in the wing. Astraea definitely qualifies as curvy. "If I ever leave a pot of rice an' beans in here, Costello, y'gotta promise me yer gonna make a few bowls of it disappear." The response from Lanval, however, earns a snort from Nova that almost ends up with soda everywhere- thankfully she hadn't quite gotten the can tipped up for a drink yet. Instead, she just giggles into it before she does. Her eyes slide towards Paquette and she grins. "Mebbe iff'n we all survive until leave, yeh?"

"Lieutenant Masters, is there a formal process for requesting a Raptor crew return a new Recon guy, who is already a pain in my ass, and have him replaced with a version that knows how to high five?" Kyle quirks a brow over her fingers, looking to the Naval types. Her voice a rich, warm tone of sarcasm, she folds her arms about her chest and wistfully shakes her head. "I'll trade it for one bowl of rice and beans if it'll give me that southside ass. All this waiting around, it's gonna get flat."

Kyle shoves up from her seat. The chair scoots back over the rubberized flooring, and with a huff, Kyle Costello reaches into the bunk beneath hers, Darcy's, and throws the Captain's pillow at Lanval.

"I'm going to take a shower." Kyle announces. "Because I'm antsy and this ship is humming, and new guy, and people trying to make me fat. So if between now and this hump, which I have to prepare for by the way, someone needs me to missile up on a Raptor? Count me in. I'm ready to blow some shit up. Huah."

"Paperwork for it is quite a hassle, though," Paquette offers to Kyle, with a brief smile, before he looks back to Bami. "I'm sure we can work out something." A nod to Astrea as well. "Best to wait until leave, that's true."

Bami's quick to hold up his hands in innocence. "Woah now. That's those two," he notes with a finger poitned to Astraea and another to Paquette. "I ain't much concerened if you're fat or scrawny, to tell ya the truth." WIth that said he looks up to the clock, swearing in Scorpian under his breath before pushing himself away from the locker. "While really, really love to hear you two talk shop on food, I gotta head out for a bit." He gives a wave to the gathered Timber Wolves then. "Was nice meeting you folks," and then he's off to exit out the hatch.

"If there is, I dunno th' proper forms," Astraea replies to Kyle, barely containing a laugh. "Shit's probably gotta go through a Major at least. Might wanna ask Stirling." She pushes herself upright from Danielle's bunk, finishing off the can of soda before stuffing sandwich wrappers into the opening. The whole lot is chucked into a bin. She wiggles her fingers in Bami's direction as he departs before she returns to her locker. There's a squint within and something of a grunt. "I s'ppose I oughta clean this up. Got some orders comin' in wit' th' next mail haul... Needta make some room."


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