Camila and Calliope almost collide in the gym. No brass is seriously harmed in the making of this scene!
Related Scenes: None
Scene Number: 286
There are three constants in the universe: death, taxes, and long waits for cardio machines. The Timber Wolves' newest Marine has posted up very close to a treadmill to stare daggers at the irritating man who's been running nonstop for the past forty-five minutes -- notwithstanding the sign discouraging such antisocial conduct literally taped to the mirror in front of him. Nor is Camila Ines Aiuru de Silva the only person eyeing the offender like a vulture would eye a corpse: fully three other people are passive-aggressively staking out their claims by keeping their eyes trained on him too. In the meantime, Camila is lifting. The fact that her kettlebell is drifting perilously close to the ass of aforementioned man is just a bonus.
Into the gym strolls Calliope. Dressed down in sweats, earbuds in, head bobbing to whatever jaunty pop song is being blasted into her head. It's only damaging her eardrums at the moment, fortunately. She heads straight for the treadmills, coming to a disappointed stop when she sees them occupied. She lets out an "Ugh" that's louder than she probably means it to be, stepping back...almost into Camila's kettlebell. Some sense of self-preservation makes her squeak and hop out of the way before she's slammed with it, though.
Camila's bare shoulders ripple with the effort of keeping the kettlebell contained. It's pretty heavy -- but in truth, most of her effort is being spent making sure she doesn't whack the irritating dude in the glutes. So focused is she on not hitting someone blameworthy that she almost doesn't notice she's about to hitsomeone who's not. It's a good thing Calliope squeaked. Panting, Camila sets down the weight and offers a sweaty hand to the other woman in case she needs support. "My bad," she offers, somewhat breathlessly. "You good?"
"Oh, yeah!" Calliope hears Camila through those earbuds as she's flailing out of the way. "I'm totally...!" Uncoordinated? While she's back-pedaling, her long legs get tangled up in themselves, and down she goes. Ass hitting the matted gym floor with a solid thump. "Ugh!" Her earbuds are popped out and she blinks around, trying to reorient herself. Camila gets a lopsided, sheepish smile, her cheeks bright red. "Uh. Yeah. I'm, uh, totally good. Just taking a load off."
"Totally," Camila avers. "I saw nothing." The shorter woman chuckles lowly as she takes a knee, right hand still extended. Her left scratches absently at the hem of her Fleet-issue tank, which clings too tightly to her muscular frame. Because one-size-fits-all clothing never does. "Nice to meet you. I'm Camila. Got ordered out here a couple of weeks ago but it took a while to find a spare bus. Guess the new fleet's still -- " She grins. "Finding its footing."
Calliope lets out a "Heh" as she gets back on her feet. Making two triumphant fists-in-air once she's upright again. The gesture's sheepish and she's still blushing. "Finding it's feet. Right. Yeah. Uh. Welcome aboard, anyway." She's a skinny thing, even tall as she is, so her sweats fit loosely. "Calliope Drake. Lieutenant, junior grade. Callsign Soundbite. I fly Raptors and...I think that's it." She sounds breathless as she gets to the end of her Fleet-issue introduction.
"First day and I come, like, this close to assaulting an officer. Could be worse." The Marine pushes herself to her feet just in time to see the annoying man get off the treadmill -- and a second annoying man swoop in immediately to claim it. She's got enough dignity to keep her inarticulate mumbled curses to herself. "Camila Ines Aiuru de Silva. Corporal in the 8th Parachute Engineer Regiment," she says after she recovers. "Foreign Legion. Leonis." Notwithstanding her accented Standard, which bears the telltale sing-song of Scorpia. "I spent most of last year jumping out of Raptors making our own factories explode. Which I'm told was the objective."
"You totally did not assault me!" Calliope pipes this firmly. "That was, like, self-assault. Would not have held it against you." She tries to situate her headband (it's very powder blue and non-military issue) back on her head. It has gone a little askew. Leonis, huh? We've got quite a few former Foreign Legion personnel here. Not me. I was kind of...nothing before the war. I mean, I was a civilian. I'm from Cap City originally." Which is easy enough to tell by her accent. She, like, totally Caprican all over.
Light panels in the ceiling cast a subdued light on the gymnasium. The floor in the front section is padded, intended for boxing or self defense practice. Punching bags, large and small, hang from the ceiling. The back of the room is devoted to exercise equipment. Treadmills, free weights, and weight machines of various descriptions.
"I tried the self-assault defense after I punched out this guy in a bar back in high school." It's not clear whether Camila's joking. "Something about girls not being able to fight. Broke his jaw. I think we dated for a bit after that." She smiles, a bit too widely. Still not clear if joking. "Anyway, I'll have to look we Legionnaires up. I mean -- it figures, right? Best sort of people to put in a unified fleet are the people who can't quite figure out what Colony they think they're from." Like me, she doesn't add. After a beat, the marine tilts her head at an open weight bench. "Feel like telling me your story while you spot me? We can trade."
"Oh sure!" Calliope grins at the offer, moving to the weights. She looks a little awkward around them, but someone's clearly forced her to use the equipment enough where she's not totally unfamiliar. "I mean, it's not much of a story. I used to fly cruise liners. You know, like tourist ships. Actually did a regular run from Caprica to Leonis. It was probably my favorite of the worlds. Was talking about getting a condo there with this girl I was into before..." Shrug. She makes a general 'Boom!" sort of gesture.
Camila has the presence of mind to rack the kettlebell before following Calliope to the bench, trailing in the tall woman's wake like a squat and sweaty shadow. With a grunt, she hefts a pair of seventies and, having found them satisfactory, takes a seat. Is she showing off? Probably. In between each laborious rep: "Something about Leonese girls. It's the accent I guess." Grunt; lift; repeat x3. "I married mine, you know. Scraped and -- " Grunt; lift; repeat x5. " -- scrounged until we could afford this tiny studio a half klick from Naval Station Vertoux." This grunt is more pained than usual; the last lift almost doesn't happen. "Long story short, we don't need to make mortgage payments anymore." Her barking laugh echoes loudly in the room as she passes the weights over to the pilot.
"She had a great accent. She refused to speak Standard around me after we'd become kind of a thing. Leonese does, like amazing things to syllables." Calliope blushes again, but her blue eyes get a little sad. She does not look particularly surprised by the 70-pounders. Maybe she just presumes all Marines can bench cars. A small nod, when the lack of a need to pay the mortgage is mentioned. "Yeah. She had this studio in this cheap part of Hedon. Top floor, huge windows. She used to leave the curtains open all the time. Didn't give a frak that anyone could see everything she did. It was like bathing in the sunrise in the morning. I don't know if that place is still standing. Haven't heard from Gen since the war started."
Camila is, for once in her life, quiet. Rivulets of sweat drip down her back as she listens to the pilot talk, a faint smile playing about her face. And she stays quiet after Calliope finishes for a few respectful seconds. Then, at length: "I learned from Papa, before the war." She's not talking about the recent one. "He'd read me these stories with these beautiful pictures. I hated it. Had no clue what he was saying, and when I yelled all he'd do was grin his insufferable grin and say 'Petit a petit, l'oiseau fait son nid.'" Each syllable is, unsurprisingly, amazing. "What a dick," she says, with fondness. Another pause. "We never deployed to Hedon, you know. So there's that."
Calliope beams at Camila's use of Leonese. "You are very strong, for un petite." Her accent's thick but she's probably conversational, at least. She says soft, in Standard, "He still around, your dad? He sounds nice. Mine was kind of a dick." She says it with a flickering little smile. "I guess that was why living on Leonis was so appealing at a certain point. The frakked up part is, now, I just wish I'd called him more often. He one of those big houses in the Cap City hills with a Cylon butler staff. So." She shrugs. Letting the gory gaps fill themselves in. "I keep hoping we'll get sent there someday. Hedon. Caprica City. Hoping and dreading it, you know?"
"Hey. I know." Camila winces at the notion of Cylon butlers, but she has the good grace to avoid saying anything involving the word 'petard.' "We grew up on Scorpia," is what she comes up with. A story for a story. "Too broke for Cylons, mostly 'cause the new governor thought it'd be a good idea to throw anyone with a passport from Leonis into jail, and Papa was too dumb to get naturalized, so he got arrested for espionage and Mama spent like all her money on attorneys. He died during the appeal." The story's presented clinically, as if she's told it a thousand times before. "Learned the language though, petit a petit." One hand tugs forcefully on her ponytail, and her fierce eyes squint shut. "On the bright side, nobody on Scorpia's talking about how much they hate Leonese after the toasters got brains. Score one for colonial unity."
"Go, go, go!" Calliope deadpan cheerleads for the united Fleet, offering Camila a smile that twists at the corners. As for the story. She tries to come up with something to say, but can't. So she finally just lands on, "That sucks." She shrugs. "It's so bizarre. To think about the way things were just a couple years ago. Like it's a whole other universe."
"At least some things are the same." Camila offers a grin of her own, to lift Calliope's spirits as much as her own. "I've been here eighteen hours and six guys have already asked me where I'm from. So I was like 'The Legion' and they were like 'No, where are you really from' so I was like 'Leonis' and they were like 'No, like, REALLY where are you from' and then I might have said something nasty in Scorpian and they were like 'Oh cool, I went there once for Vernal Break and it was radical, like those Gone Wild holos awwyiss.'" The woman's smile widens. "Blood's still thicker than water, and all marines are still dogs." There's that barking laugh again, a little sharper than before. Then, with a start, she jumps up from the bench. "Your turn, Caprica. Come on. And while you're at it, tell me about all the crazy shit your fancy passengers got up to."
"I, uh, actually did go to Argentum Bay for Vernal Break in university," Calliope admits. "I don't remember much of it, but the pictures are humiliating, so I assume it was radical." She snorts. "Pilots are dogs, too, if it makes you feel any better. I think that, like, a universal condition. Seriously?" She eyes the bench. Like she's sizing it up. Then, nods, and down on it she goes. Expression all of resolve. "I am totally doing this!" Though before she does, she adds, "Uh, maybe the twenty-five pounders? If I snap my wrist bones, the CAG is going to be pissed."
Camila is perilously close to doing the chest-pounding 'lift moar' thing until, just in time, she snaps her mouth shut -- perhaps thinking back to a recent incident involving that complicated exercise technique known as 'walking backwards.' Twenty-fives it is. And the marine even pretends like they feel heavy. "Glad some things aren't the same," she says in the meantime, a touch of amusement in her voice. "My delinquent ass would've hated you back then."
Calliope looks with wide eyes up at Camila, awaiting Marine mockery for her flaily arms. She smiles when it does not come. And lifts! She does not bench impressively, but she gets in some strength training that's at least passable and does not shatter herself on the bench. A short, "Heh" as to being hated in another life. "Probably. New worlds now, though!" Lift, lift, lift. She works out until she's spent. And that frakking guy is still on the treadmill when she's done.