2237-07-25 - Settling In

Some of the pilots in the base housing begin getting settled before diving into training.

Date: 2237-07-25

Location: Air House

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 327

Jump to End

Ten people in a three bedroom house and yet it's still more space than the bunks and more luxury, for sure, than the hangar on Picon. Astraea managed to 'land' in time to clam a bed, even! It's her one bit of luxury and she traded dresser space for it; something she had no need of with how few clothes she has. Just needed space for her tattoo kit, which survived thank Kobol. She'd just gotten it in days before the big battle.

The woman is in the kitchen at the moment, sitting on the countertop in shorts and a halter top sipping at a beer. She's staring out the window, lost in thought. The house is still largely empty save for others who have claimed their spot and gone back out for the day.

Emrys steps into the kitchen, wearing his greens. The whole situation is like being back in college, though with even more people crammed into a tiny space. He's enjoying the piece and quiet of people being out and the place being largely empty. "Nova." He nods a greeting to the woman. "Surprised you're still here."

Bottle at lips, Nova is mid-sip when Emrys speaks to her. She cuts a side-eye to him when he does, swallowing quickly. She's let her hair remain free and natural for leave thus far: frizz and all. It's nice to let her scalp have a rest from the tight braids required to keep the mass in a helmet. Sure, she could go for a super-short cut, but she'd hate to give up the curls. "Yeh?" She sets the beer by her hip, letting bare feet fall to knock against the cabinet door. Even on the counter, the short pilot is... well, short. Petite. "Why's that?"

"You've got family around here, don't you?" Emrys asks, part statement part question. "I figured you'd be off with them, that's all." The question is asked in an easy-going tone, as he considers the view out the window she was contemplating. He's obviously curious/concerned but there's nothing confrontational in his voice.

<FS3> Astraea rolls Composure: Success (6 5 4 3 3)

And just as she was about to reach for her beer again, Astraea pauses. Her fingers tremble a bit in mid-air and she takes a long moment before she finally grabs the bottle and drops off the counter to land with the soft smack of feet against tile. "They're prob'ly busy," she answers flatly, not looking at Emrys, lifting the bottle to her lips for a long draw on it as she passes to the 'fridge. She knows it's empty of anything save more beer. Of course it is. They're goddamn pilots. She's the only one of them who ever cooks and she hasn't gone shopping yet. But it keeps her occupied or the momen.

<FS3> Emrys rolls Alertness: Success (8 7 4 4 3 3 2)

Emrys catches those trembling fingers,, and just watches Astraea thoughtfully for a long moment. "Fair enough. I mean, we did only just get here." He seems about to let it go. Maybe just ask Cherry about it...she seems to have a pretty good handle on Nova. But just in case, he does ask "You let 'em know you're here though, right?"

The door to the 'fridge is closed suddenly -- and harshly -- as Astraea turns to Emrys with wide eyes. There's more fear in them than suspicion, but there's a healthy dose of that, too. "You didn't tell 'em, did you? Tell me you didn't tell 'em, for th' love of Kobol."

Emrys is caught off guard by that fear and suspicion, raising his hand in a calming motion. "Whoa, Nova. I don't even know your family to tell them." He points out. "But maybe you'd better tell me what's up. If we need to get the shore patrol to keep an eye on the house, I'm sure we can. But it'd be helpful to know if we're at risk of being attacked. I mean, differently attacked than usual." She's obviously scared of them finding her, after all.

There's a deep breath and Astraea takes a few steps back, shaking her head. "Nuh-uh. There's... there shouldn't be need of that. Don't think so, at least. Tybarre wouldn't... they wouldn't move 'gainst th' Fleet I don' think. An' maybe they-" She's mostly mumbling to herself as she grabs at the 'fridge again, popping it open long enough just to grab another beer. The top is flicked off on the counter top in a deft motion -- Air Wing, bby -- and she brushes past Emrys towards the living room and the couch that is still a couch and not yet popped out into a bed. "Ain't no one comin' this way so long as no one says anythin'."

Emrys listens to the mumbling as he follows Astraea into the living room. Clearly he wasn't expecting this to go down this road. "Well, unless anyone aboard actually knows your family...in which case you might want to tell them not to say anything...I don't think you need to worry about that."

"You're right, you're right, I'm just bein' paranoid." Astraea leans forward with a beer in each hand. Usually something for a more joyous occasion, but right now it's meant to help her calm her nerves. "Just end up on edge a bit. Sorry, sir." She drains her first beer... what little remained. The bottle is dropped on the table among some others left from some folks pre-gaming before going out earlier. Sinking back into the cushions, she lifts the other to press to her forehead. "You put in for th' lottery to go home?"

Emrys winces slightly. "I know you...don't think very highly of me, Nova. But you don't have to call me sir. We're all Wolves, yeah? And right now we're not even on duty." He's not drinking for the moment, letting her paranoia go for now. Definitely something to talk to Cherry about, though. "No, I decided against it." He answers honestly enough.

It's Astraea's turn to wince. She closes her eyes, grimacing as she lowers the bottle to rest against her bare knee. "It... ain't that, si- Hawk. I-" How does she explain it? The Scorpian bites at her lower lip, trying to sort out the best way to put it. In the end, she just shrugs. "I don't think poorly of ya," she offers, lamely. "You oughta see yer family while ya got the chance. Dunno if you'll get another."

"Well, alright then." Emrys' tone is very matter of fact. She says she doesn't, that's good enough for him. "I thought about it, but..." A pause. "So it's a lottery, right? There's only so many slots to go around. I don't really want to go home, and it would mostly be awkward. I mean, don't get me wrong, I have it better than a lot of folks I know. Parents are still alive, still willing to talk to me. But I don't have any great news to share, anyone to take with me...I'm not a young adult who may never have been away from home before and have a whole host of family they're worrying about..it just doesn't make sense for me to enter and potentially use up a slot." It's presented as though it were a math problem. 2+2=4.

Aubrey makes her way in, wearing a loose and flowy coverup over a bikini, with her hair looking 'beachy'. That's what they call it when you go swimming then it air dries all wild right? She looks maybe a little pre-drunk. "Oh good, stuff got delivered!" she announces, poking through the boxes and finding the one with her name. "My camera better be in there."

"Honey, I'm home!" Isolde Asa sweeps open the front door with a flourish, beaming as she does. She's in her off-duties still, but she's wearing... are those flipflops? Her hair is done up in a wild fashion of a knotted ponytail, and she looks a little sunkissed. She glances over her shoulder toward the Picon she's towing along. When she spots Nova and Emrys, her dimples come out. Even with her left hand bandaged up and the definite gap between her middle and pinkie finger, Isolde can't help but be cheerful.

In shorts and a halter-top, barefoot, Astraea looks properly 'on leave.' She's left her hair free and natural with just enough curls to not be total frizz. She's got just enough flush across her nose to show she was drinking before Emrys began speaking to her and now she's alternating pressing the cold beer bottle to her forehead and drinking heavily of it. "Lottery's fer everyone, Hawk. Doesn't matter if ya got... someone to show off. Just do it. Go see home, yeah? Green... fields or whatever Virgon looks like in real life. I've only ever seen th' movies." She looks up as Aubrey enters, giving a bit of an up nod. "Yeh, it finally got in." She lifts bottle in greeting to Isolde as the ECO sweeps on in. "Fridge is fulla beer." Cause what else is important?

Van... is not so cheerful. He's smiling, sure, but it's faint, and there's a weight to his shoulders and around his eyes. He gives a nod to Aubrey ahead of them, and to Emrys and Astraea already in place, giving Isolde's right hand a little squeeze and then loosing it, "I think that I'll avoid the beer for now, thank you though, Nova." He looks around the quarters, "This isn't so bad. About the same as quarters at the Academy -- except with seven extra people, of course."

Emrys is in his duty greens, and does not look particularly 'on leave' at all. It's not clear that he actually knows how. "Some of it's rolling green fields, yeah. And lots of trees." He offers, at the talk of what Virgon really looks like. "The industrial cities are...well, what you might expect. But it's really nice in the rural parts. My family's estate is out in the middle of nowhere. Deer roaming around and such." Greetings are nodded to those who arrive.

Aubrey digs through her box of things from Vanguard and she shucks the coverup to pull on shorts and a halter top over the bikini instead. "Thank the gods, that crappy coverup I grabbed at the marketplace was itchy." She hears the word beer and heads to the fridge to pull one out for herself.

"Trees." Isolde snorts. Then the innocuous ECO declines a beer soon after Van's own words, and she looks at the sober Picon with the smallest hint of concern. Lingering in that emotion is not an option as she quickly breathes out a slow exhale and then resumes her smile. "Everyone enjoying the first bit of R&R?" She notes the boxes, and starts peeking around for her own gear. Nothing yet. She does peek into a box that's already opened and she wrinkles her nose. "Huh... this looks like yours, Van." She pulls out a holoband, peeking over it.

"Still better'n th' spaceport," Astraea points out to Van. "I claimed one of th' beds an' I saw Jiggers' box made it here, so I put it on one of th' others. There's still a coupla beds b'fore it's just cots an'-" she kicks a bit at the base of the sofa she's sitting on." There's a long drink of her beer before she looks at Emrys, brow furrowing for a moment. "What's an estate?"

Van is in beach clothes himself, although apparently his beach civvies tend more towards the yacht club edge of things, with deck shoes, khaki shorts with knife-edge creases, and a pale blue polo. He follows Isolde over to the box she's digging into, looking over her shoulder, "It... does look like mine." Nudging one end up, he studies the serial number, then nods, "Yes, that one's mine. It looks like someone went through the box already..." Emrys' description gets a slow nod, evidently not thrown off by the claim of an 'estate,' "That sounds quite nice. I think I would probably get a little antsy without some shoreline nearby myself." Astraea's mention of the beds causes Van to pick up the box he's tabbed as his own and move quickly toward one of the doors, evidently looking to claim one of the bedrooms. "Yes, most everything is better than the spaceport." He finds one of the empty rooms and sets his box on the bed, then comes back to the doorway and notes soberly, "I would rather be back there, though. Fighting, rather than sitting here waiting."

"It's...well, it's just a big parcel of land." Emrys offers to Astraea, in the manner of one who has never had to explain this and so never really considered how to. "It's a really big parcel of land with a fence around it and a big house on it. There's quite a few of them on Virgon, and they'll all belonged to the same families for generations."

Aubrey opens her beer and takes a swig, looking at Astraea as she mentions Jigger. "His stuff get here all right?" she asks. She perches on a couch arm, pulling the box back to herself and digging through it for other stuff.

Isolde watches Van's slow progress through the box and then his abrupt quickness when Astraea mentions the limited beds. It makes the Tauron woman start to grin, and she sobers up when he returns. "What? Not reserving a bed for me?" She chides him. "Selfish." She has yet to find her box, but she seems totally unconcerned. It'll show up. Or it won't. She would like her holoband, though... Then she glances over toward Van at his expressed desires, and she offers him a small smile. "I know, hon... we will be back fighting, but we gotta keep with what the Wolves are here to do." Then she looks back to the others.

"I like gettin' th' chance to breathe-" Astraea points to Isolde. "She knows what I mean. Raptors don't get it. We're always goin'. CAP. Watchin' yer asses. Deliverin' marines ta missions. Evacs. I feel like I might actually get a full night's sleep. Was startin' ta wake up-" she holds up the beer bottle as if its the throttle on a Raptor. "...flyin'. Like I was in th' cockpit still, y'know?" The jig shudders, getting to her feet as she moves for the kitchen. At Aubrey's question, she shrugs. "Mebbe? I wasn't gonna dig through his personal items. Looks like it, but it's his ta say for sure. Privacy, y'know?" There's a hint of warning there before she's at the fridge, beer held up in question and offer for everyone, though her eyes are on Emrys. "Why... why would one family need that much land?"

"Usually with a rather large manor house on it," Van adds to Emrys' description. He smiles faintly at Isolde's question, gesturing behind him, "I thought I just did? One less person who has to sleep on a cot." His good humor is fragile, however, and he grimaces slightly at the reassurance from Isolde, "Yes, but I tend to think that we all should have stayed. We could have gotten a ride back here when the carrier was ready, and we could have been fighting until then." He manages a small, weary smile to Astraea, "Oh, I understand the desire for rest, I do. But..." but it's his home colony. And the question for Emrys, however, he answers, "Because it's an excellent way to demonstrate wealth, lineage, or both." There's no judgment there. His own family's house isn't an estate, exactly, but it's not small either.

"Could you grab me one, Nova?" Emrys will apparently take her up on that offer, nodding to what Van says. "Like Milkman said. And the more land you have, the more important your family is. And the land can make money for you. The Royal Family, for example, has more land than anyone else." There's a half shrug. "It's just the way we organize our society. Always been that way."

Aubrey arches a brow at Astraea, as privacy would dictate someone doesn't pluck up another pilot's box of stuff and pick them a bed either. "Uh huh," is all she says in reply. She takes a deep draught from her beer and goes back to rummaging through her box of stuff. She pulls out her camera, finally, looking relieved it was in there.

"Maybe I like sleeping on a cot," Isodle teases Van, though she does this very gently. Then she refocuses on this talk of land and titles and estates, and she frowns slightly. "That's so... not Tauron. Our house only got bigger because we required it to get bigger, and we downsized as we moved off to college and became adults. There's no this kind of weird land equals wealth." Because, perhaps, wealth isn't a common concept in the socialist Colony.

A spare beer is grabbed along with Astraea's own second... and then she rethinks it and just grabs the six pack wholesale. It's slogged back to the couch and plunked down on the table before the woman follows suit to settle on the sofa herself. She looks between Van and Emrys just utterly baffled. "How does land make money? Do ya... put businesses on it? Like shops an' all? 'Cause that'd make sense." Someone simply does not comprehend.

Van nods at Emrys' description, "It's not just Virgon either. Caprica and Picon have similar situations, although clearly not with nobility there. The rich have more land because they can afford it and because it's a sign of wealth, just like a big house or expensive cars." He'll let Emrys explain the economics, though, leaning against the doorframe and looking back to Isolde, "If you want to sleep on a cot again, you're welcome to it, Izzy. And when you change your mind," his own teasing is gentle as well, "you can give a knock on my door." And then he frowns thoughtfully, "Wait... your family moved houses as you moved out?"

"The Leonese do too, I believe." Emrys adds to the list, taking one of the beers Astraea has retrieved while he considers the next question. "Well, some families do own freeholdings that they rent out...shops and businesses and stuff. Some institutions do, too. Sometimes a really old school will own a lot of the freeholdings in the town around it, for example." A pause, to pop the top and take a sip. "But with land it's mostly farming. Other people work the land for you, people who don't have their own."

Aubrey lifts the camera, adjusting it and looking through the viewfinder, to take a few shots of the people in the room for posterity. "Uncle Hawk, tell me you at least own some civilian beach clothes?" she asks, frowning at his uniform.

Isolde just sticks her tongue out at Van at first. Then she shrugs a shoulder at his more pressing question. "We didn't need the extra bedrooms... someone else needed that house for their growing family, so my parents downsized." Then she looks over toward Emrys with a tilt of her head, and her frown becomes thoughtful. "Do they get to sell the things they farm on your land, then?"

Must resist double-fisting beer again. Must resist. What Astraea doesn't resist is lounging back into the sofa to prop her legs over the arm of it, legs crossed a the knee. "If he doesn't," she offers to Aubrey, "he can join when I drag Razor out ta get proper beach wear." Because the Ensign never answered her when she asked if he had any, so she's assumed the answer must be 'no.' Even so, she's trying to process what Emrys and Van have said, just shaking her head. "I mean, lotta folks 'round here go for th' fancy car, yeh. 'Cause land, well-" islands. Bay and then islands. Land is in damn short supply. "But ain't none of us rich. You get th' car or even th' rims, you made it, or..." she just sort of shrugs and takes a swig of her beer, leaving that unsaid. "I wouldn't know what ta do with extra land like that. Mebbe..." she spends a few seconds trying to come up with something, but finally shakes her head and opts for a long drink.

Van nods at Emrys' addition, and then puts in, "Mineral rights as well?" Looking back to Astraea, "For many, it's not actually about doing something with the land, simply about owning it. Compared to the average citizen, it's a very different way of looking at the world," Emrys gets another glance, "It can be quite a shock for some the first time they actually have to work for a living, at a service academy or elsewhere." Isolde's response causes him to nod, and the stuck-out-tongue even causes him to smile faintly.

"No, I don't own civilian beach clothes I'm afraid." Hawk answers, although he doesn't actually sound very sorry about that. There's a nod, then. "Yes, they do. These days it's just like any other sort of rental where people rent something for a business. Now, centuries ago it wasn't that way..." Another sip of beer. "Mineral rights, yes. And you're not wrong, Milkman. A lot of the old families have a tradition of military service, but even with that...you show up and you're suddenly bottom of the heap it can take a while to adjust." He may be speaking from personal experience.

"Right, well. I need something stronger than beer, so I'm heading out to a club," Aubrey announces, putting the camera strap around her neck so she can carry it with her. She digs a pair of sandals out of her box of stuff, and slides them on. "Don't wait up!" She heads out.

Isolde waves after Aubrey, and then she blinks at Emrys. "What do you mean you don't own civilian clothes?" The Tauron woman sounds absolutely shocked. "No shorts? No shirts? What about your underwear? You're underwear is at least not-regulation." Then she looks at Van, brows arched.

It's such a different concept of the world for Astraea that she simply cannot process it. She just looks between Emrys and Van, frowning. The expression of a freshman sitting in on their first quantum physics lecture with a professor who has just announced 'let's dive on in!' and gone straight to the middle of the text. Her jaw works and she can't even do more than waggle a bottle after Aubrey. So she takes the 'out' that Isolde offers. "Civvies-" she snaps out of it to unfurl a finger from the bottle and point at the Virgan. "Hawk, yer comin' wit' me when I drag Razor out ta get him proper beach clothes."

Van nods agreement at Emrys' description, giving Aubrey a brief wave, "Good hunting, Banshee," then looks back to Isolde, his faint smile lingering. Shaking his head a little, he notes, "Don't look at me, Izzy. I didn't have any civvies with me until the last time we had R&R. They were all packed away in a trunk at my parents' place." Eying Astraea a moment, he advises Emrys, "You might as well give in. Shorts are certainly more comfortable here than blues or greens -- or at least loose khakis if you can't quite see yourself in shorts."

"Banshee." Emrys nods at the woman on her way out, before shaking his head. "Well, I do own civilian clothes. They're just all on Virgon." He points out. "There's only so much space and I couldn't see a use for them...you can always wear PTs for just lazing around in." Van seems to have his number, as the older man agrees "Yes, if it's not PT I don't do shorts."

Isolde continues to look alarmed, but she is settling down a bit. "I still want to know whose big idea it was to give us giant grandma underwear and call it regulation." Isolde then nods soberly to Astraea. "You should shop... get some clothes that are definitely more suited for down here. I have a stash that should be arriving soon." Those last words are spoken to the heavens like she's complaining to the Lords, and then she looks back at the others. "Seriously though... the underwear..."

"When I transferred, th' only non-regs I had were underwear," Astraea admits and indeed- all she'd ever worn on the Vanguard was her flight-suit and variation of her duty uniforms. "First thing I did when we got here was go shoppin'." She stretches out a leg so she can admire... well, a sliver of the shorts. "Ain't gonna have much use for 'em when we ship out, but damnit. Mebbe I'll give 'em away when we leave. Still, gotta go swimmin' at least once. Twice. Though-" she falls back against the couch. Definitely tipsy. The bottle is pointed at Izzy. "Razor did show up in jeans to th' bar last night! An' a t-shirt!"

"Comfort, not confidence, Izzy." Van's smile spreads a little further in the face of her new obsession, "The regulation skivvies won't try to climb up anywhere uncomfortable, unlike some more fashionable styles." Don't think he missed the 'stash arriving soon' comment either, although he doesn't follow up on that with others around. Instead, he nods to Emrys, "I saw some linen pants that would be a little gauche at the yacht club, but were light enough that they might provide nearly the relief of shorts while still being pants." Astraea's news draws a light chuckle, "I expected he had some civilian clothes. Probably nothing suited for Argentum Bay, of course. But even I learned how necessary suitable clothing was during our last stretch here."

"It's been years since anybody cared this much about my underwear." Emrys observes, his tone good humored. "Linen pants? That might be something to look into." He seems reluctant, though. "Nova's point is why I'm not just rushing out, though. Not gonna have any use for it once we get back to work, and we have space issues."

"What!" Isolde grasps at her heart in a dramatic moment. "You mean that uniform isn't part of his skin." She smirks at Van. "I thought all crazy military brats were sewn into their uniforms. I had to get you out of yours with a pair of scissors." Which may or may not shed a bit too much light on Van and Isolde's off-hours. Then she shakes her head slightly. "Alright, I'll stop picking on you now. I used to sneak my bunny slippers into the computer hub back on Tauron because their shoes were so uncomfortable."

"I was surprised he showed up at all," Astraea muses of Kell. "Let folks know there was gonna be drinks an' all an' there's Razor. In civvies an' he even had a couple drinks." Marvel of marvels! She sits up enough to sip at her beer, giggling a Isolde's reaction. "Mebbe promises of cupcakes are gettin' through to him." She stretches out a bit, even so, looking to Emrys with a tilt of her head. "Well, ya got some space. A pair of shorts, yer reg tanks... swim trunks. Otherwise yer gonna go out with us all one night an' swoon in th' heat and I don't think ya want yer new call sign ta be Vapors."

Van nods at Emrys' point, "Perhaps we should rent a storage space here on Scorpia. The Timber Wolves as a whole, that is. Store our civilian clothing and anything else that we want when we're on shore leave but not on a ship." Isolde's teasing causes his chuckle to rise to a light laugh, and he shakes his head, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck, "That may be because you're a terrifying Tauron, and I'm a posh Picon, and I was afraid of what you might do to me." Astraea's suggestion of the callsign causes him to laugh again, shaking his head in amusement and then rubbing at his left shoulder with his right hand. "That would certainly be more embarrassing than 'Hawk,' I should think."

"It wouldn't be the worst one I've ever had." Hawk admits, finishing off the beer. "I started out as Hussy, decades ago." The bottle is placed down, as he considers. "Still, you make good arguments. I'm not particularly interested in a new call sign, and passing out from heat exhaustion doesn't sound like a good time. Yeah, some linen pants might be alright."

"The Air Wing is relentless in its callsigns. I got mine because of a dirty joke." Isolde begins to rub a bit at her disfigured hand, rubbing her fingertips close to where she's missing that ring finger. It itches and pains her all at the same time -- and all she wants to do is stop that ghostly feeling of her missing finger. Her hand twitches a bit. "Got the news that I'm doing my quals in a couple days." She looks at Hawk. "You done your quals for the CF yet?"

"I've never had any other callsign," Nova admits aloud, staring at the ceiling. She should probably stop drinking soon lest she want to fly in the morning with a hangover. Then again, it's the air base pilot way isn't it? She does point at Van. "A storage space is a good idea. You rich boys oughta make it happen." In her mind, they're probably rolling in cubits now. Snap snap. Get to it. "Quals? Oh, shit, right, I got that too. Mebbe I'll do better this time." At least she didn't fail on her initial set.

Van's brows rise at the mention of Hawk's first callsign, but doesn't inquire further. Instead, he looks down to Isolde's fussing with her left hand, and he holds out his hands for her to give it to him, "Good. I'm glad that Whisper set them up. You're definitely ready now, although if you'd like to cram for the test a little, I'm happy to help." Looking over to Astraea, he adds, "I've always had this one myself," and he's decidedly ambivalent about that, by his tone.

"No, I was supposed to at my first CF posting and then they cut my orders to come to the Wolves right before they ran them." Hawk answers at the talk of quals. "So I'll be doing them with you, I'm sure. I'm looking forward to it...it'll be nice to get them taken care of."

"I think I'm gonna go pester Sweetheart for some pointers." Isolde notes this to Van before she looks back over to Hawk and Astraea. She looks more than a little awkward. "I failed mine... but Van is going to be real quick here to point out that I've never actually been to flight school and he would have failed his quals too if he had taken them after the same amount of time, but I'm just going to scowl and glare at him in response." And she does scowl and glare at Van in anticipation before she looks back to Astraea and Hawk. "Mace was real good about it, though. I'm... I'm sure I'll pass them this time."

She does, after glaring at Van, pass over her hand to him so she stops messing with it.

And ever since her assumption regarding Van's callsign, Astraea knows the story behind it! As do a few others. "Nova ain't so bad," she opines, looking to Emrys. "Better'n Hussy, at least." There's a sort of sympathetic look for the man. She does swing her legs a bit before fully sitting up. "Well... I never finished flight school m'self. Sorta just got rushed out there when th' war began, y'know? I only barely passed my quals. So I'm hopin' I can improve my numbers this time."

Van does indeed have his mouth open to respond to her awkward statement, and then she is precisely describing his argument, her rebuttal, and he's getting scowled at. Thankfully (or not so thankfully), it's happened a couple of times already, so he takes it like a champ, merely nodding. "I have absolutely no doubt that you will, Izzy." Astraea gets a slightly-surprised nod, "Then you did very well to pass them at all the first time, Nova."

"Eh, I deserved it." is all Emrys says of his first ever callsign, before considering the talk of quals. "Van has a good point. And the thing about quals is...you can be perfect on quals and useless in a dogfight, and vice versa. There's obviously a corrolation between doing well on one and the other, because of the skills involved. But the atmosphere is so totally different. I guess my point is, quals are important but they're not the be all and end all of you as a pilot."

Astraea's confession of never finishing flight school actually as Isolde smiling a bit. "Flight school is overrated." Then she looks soberly at the two Viper pilots and she nods to their reassurances. "I know. I'll do fine." She even sounds like she believes it this time. But she is Isolde, so she does aff a bit more self-consciously, "Hopefully." She shakes her head now, tugging herself up to her feet and giving Van's hand a squeeze. She winces slightly, forgetting herself, and then she nods to the other two. "I should go hunt for my boxes and then check in on the CAP schedule."

"I still want the numbers," Astraea points out before gesturing to Van with her beer bottle, squinting. "And you can't tell me that if you failed yer quals, even with how high on that kill board you are, that you wouldn't be all kicking around beatin' yerself up." She seems rather confident of that fact. There's a bit of a smile for Isolde, in return, but there's something wistful to it. As the Viper pickup revealed; being fast-tracked did mean Nova missed out on Vipers. When the ECO mentions the CAP schedule, she leans forward and points towards the 'fridge. "Someone put it up there."

Van rubs his thumbs along Isolde's hand as she frets, stroking them up from the knuckle above the missing finger toward her wrist. When she squeezes his hand, he looses hers, frowning a little worriedly, then nods to Emrys, "Don't worry, I've told her all of this before. Although coming from someone else may have a little more ring of truth to it. I may be a touch biased." He nods to Isolde, "I want to check up on my bird," one of the old ones brought through the fire on Picon, "as well. Although I should probably sort through my gear as well." He considers Astraea's comment for a moment, "You might be right. Although I don't put a whole lot of weight on the kill board either. I enjoy celebrating people making ace status, but I don't particularly care if its a solo kill or a joint kill, as long as the toaster ends up in scrap. I just care that we're killing toasters, saving people, and watching each others' backs."

"Huh, that was thoughtful of them." Emrys looks toward the fridge. "Fridge full of beer, schedule on the fridge...ten of us stuffed into this little place. I feel like being an Ensign living off base for the first time all over again." There's a half-smile, at that. "I'm sure we're all going to do great on quals. Really."

"And eating cake." Isolde adds this to Van's list as she meanders over to the fridge at Astraea's note, and glares at the CAP list. She frowns a bit. "Ugh, I'm flying with Slow-Poke tomorrow morning." She cuffs her hands over her ears, and then gripes a bit at the twinge of pain. "This is the worst. I should just call in sick." Then she starts to nod to Van. "Alright, let's go check on your stuff and then we'll see if maybe Kell's hiding mine somewhere. Since we all know how incredibly puckish he is." She grins toward Emrys then, and she nods. "I think we will too. Really." Then she starts to venture off, waving as she does.

"...dunno who put th' schedule up. Th' beer was me." Astraea's not going to let the Fleet get appreciation for the beer, oh no! Nope, nuh-uh, no way buster. She finishes off the bottle she has and pushes to her feet, albeit somewhat wobbly. "Mebbe I should go for a walk b'fore bed?" Her brow furrows just a little as if she's uncertain on that point. The woman takes a breath, shrugging in Van's direction. "I just mean... Ya can't say ya wouldn't be upset if you did poorly on 'em, much as you say they don't matter." There's a snort as Isolde calls Kell puckish. "One can hope for that rather'n it gettin' destroyed. Pitbull lost a number of his things." She actually feels bad for her oft-ECO!

Van smiles wryly at Emrys' description of the living conditions, "Not enough V-World gaming going on, but otherwise... quite." Isolde's addition draws a chuckle, "And eating cake. Because yes, Izzy gets cake as well. Once everyone has sorted out their stuff and stolen it back from those who have pucked with it." He offers a wave, and the suggestion of, "Perhaps several glasses of water as well, Nova?" And then he's off with Isolde.

"Later, you do." Emrys nods to Van and Isolde as they head off. "I think...yes, Milkman has a good point. A few glasses of water, whether or not you go for that walk." He gets up slowly, to go look at the CAP schedule. "Now, when do I fly next..."


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