2237-07-12 - Welcome To This Mess

Asha comes aboard. Calliope schools her on sandwiches and rambles.

Date: 2237-07-12

Location: Mess Hall

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 261

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It's one of those off hours where the mess is technically open, but not really serving a proper meal. There are pre-made sandwiches of variable quality for the taking, though. Calliope is in the line, taking one. She's dressed in a flight suit but it's unzipped to reveal the t-shirt underneath, and she's sweaty and frazzle-haired in that way of one who's recently gotten off instead of one intending to go on duty.

Asha is off duty and dressed as such, though her hoodie and sweats are much neater than Calliope's frazzled mess. She stands near the door of the mess with a bag slung over her shoulder, giving the hall a narrow-eyed study that's doing its best to give the impression that she's nothing short of firmly confident. After a beat or two of this, she earns a sidelong glance or two from those snacking between meals. It's enough to make her stir uncomfortably and close in on Calliope. She grabs the first sandwich she sees, with not nearly enough attention for type or quality.

Calliope picks her sandwich up and sniffs it. Nose wrinkling. But it's not unappealing enough that she doesn't take it. "Ugh, you do not want the egg salad," she advises Asha, when she sees her sandwich choices. "It's not bad around lunch but this time of day...yeah. No. The chicken's not bad. Or the roast beef, if you're a, like, beef person." She is not a beef person, apparently, so she takes a chicken.

"Right," Asha agrees, instantly swapping her sandwich for another. This one's chicken, which Calliope has deemed safe. She glances at the taller woman, gaze slanting upward just enough to take the measure of her. "Should have called /that/. I've never been in a mess where the egg was good more than three seconds after they slapped it on bread."

"I mean it won't kill you, it's just super gross," Calliope says. Her posture has a habitual slouch to it, tall thing that she is. Which Asha's gaze seems to remind her of and she attempts, for a moment, to stand up straight. "Anyway. Umm. Hi." She steps out of line, now that she has her food. "You just coming aboard? The bag says 'new.' It's that kind of accessory."

"Here I thought I was being super subtle," Asha deadpans. There's a bare glint of humor in her eyes, but it might be harder to catch without the edge of familiarity. Her hand shifts against the strap of her bag, hefting it a bit more firmly into place. A pause, and then she acknowledges more seriously, "First time on a Battlestar. This thing is fucking insane."

Calliope blinks her blue eyes at Asha. She did not catch the humor. She looks mildly worried she has offended this random person...somehow. "Right. Yeah, these ships are intense. Even this is just a cutter, but I still get turned around aboard the Vanguard sometimes. I was stationed on the Galactica for awhile and oh my gods. It took me like a week to remember where the Head was. So...do you want to sit down?" She points vaguely toward a table. It's empty right now. Most are empty, strange hours to eat and all.

"Wild, right?" Asha answers. She drags her gaze across the hall again, mostly missing Calliope's worry. It takes her a distracted beat to answer her question. "Oh," she says, gaze snapping back to the other woman. "Right. Yeah." She shifts her bag again and tucks her sandwich awkwardly under her arm so that she can jut a hand out toward Calliope. "Asha. I've been over Leonis."

Calliope also does some sandwich and juice juggling. It just ends on them being plonked down on the random table. Then she reaches out to shake Asha's hand. Her grip isn't terribly firm, but she pumps enthusiastically. "Calliope Drake. Lieutenant, Junior Grade. Callsign Soundbite. I...think that's it." Her eyes roll up like she's mentally calculating if she's hit all the necessary points of her introduction. She nods to herself. Seems so.

"Pilot?" Asha phrases it as a question, but given Calliope's attire, it's not really a wild guess. She flashes a smile, teeth white against her dark skin as she supplies, Asha Hicks, Esign. Callsign Ash." There's the faintest wrinkle of her nose for that. She, however, adds, "Viper pilot." And /that/ carries a note of matter-of-fact pride.

Calliope laughs softly at the callsign right after the name, before she can stop herself. She looks a touch abashed and quickly takes a chair. The other is gestured to, as a semi-flaily invitation for Asha to sit. "Oh! That's the part I forgot. The military makes things so long. I'm a Raptor pilot. So you're joining the wing? That's awesome. No shortage of work to do. Picon space is, like, intense."

"No," Asha says in quick answer to Calliope's laugh. "It's terrible. I know. I didn't come up with it." She drops her bag to the floor with a heavy thud, then drops herself into a chair with a lighter version of the same. Her eyes flick around the room once more before settling on Calliope again. "Intense how?"

"I mean, it could be worse. I got mine by making an ass out of myself in front of a reporter on Canceron." Calliope's eyes get big and she assures Asha, randomly, "I'm not a Caprican oppressor! I totally promise! I don't really know how to oppress anything!" So very earnest. She clears her throat awkwardly and drinks some juice. Anyway. It's a bit before she actually answers Asha's question. "Oh. There's just no 'front' really. Back on Canceron, and even Tauron, we could kind of park in the pacified corners of space. We have to keep moving here. And the Cylons do, too. So, like, any patrol. Boom. They can just come out of nowhere. And the planet itself is a mess. There are some areas getting controlled enough that we can go down safely for a little while, but the toasters still hold a ton of it. It's probably the heaviest fighting I've seen since I joined up. I mean, I've only been in combat for like...a year maybe? But still."

"Sounds wild," Asha answers. She leans forward into the table, and for a moment her dark eyes glint with interested anticipation before she clears her throat and says, "Can you point me toward the barracks? I've got to grab a bunk and check in before my number's called up."

Calliope is in the midst of chewing her sandwich. She tries to answer with her mouth full, but it's garbled. So she swallows, and tries again. "Yeah, sure. It's Mid Deck. Section for it's pretty big, but I can walk you down. Don't think you're in the wrong place if you see Marines or doctors or anything. We all bunk together. It's supposed to promote unit cohesion or something."

"What, /all/ of us?" That's not just surprise in Asha's gaze, it's an edge of-- something else. Maybe she just really doesn't like Marines. She's on her feet with speed, her sandwich still tucked in her free hand. "Does it work? Is the unit all-- cohesive?"

Calliope shrugs. "I guess? It doesn't seem to hurt. Forces you to get to know people better. Some of the Marines are pretty cool. Others aren't, like, great about bathing or shutting up when you want to go to sleep, but some pilots aren't, either. Stink or loudness isn't that much tied to department. Just hope you get somebody decent sleeping above or below you." Another bite of sandwich.

"Don't worry," Asha assures Calliope with another flash of a smile. "I've got ear plugs." On that note, she's off toward the door in search of the barracks, where she will quiz Calliope on the best of the remaining bunk options. Which makes it her fault if it ends poorly.

Calliope finishes her juice in a gulp. The remains of the sandwich, she takes to go. Long legs striding after Asha, then falling into step beside her. She knows the way to the berths and she's been aboard long enough that her answers to basic questions are more or less correct. If sometimes made with unnecessary rambling.


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