2237-08-11 - Insert Battlestar Here

Aleksander and Gage return from an uneventful patrol, Irene helps them with unhelpful buckles -- at a price -- while they discuss the Cylon's recent changes in tactics and firepower.

Date: 2237-08-11

Location: Dauntless, Bunkroom C

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 393

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Gods, is it actually humanly possible to wake up with perfect hair? Maybe Irene isn't human, cause when she draws the grey curtain back, there she is; perfect haired. It's almost spooky. She also looks way too alert, so is one of those terribly awful morning people. At least she doesn't spring right out and start doing laps around the bunkroom, instead she just reaches up and leans out to see what's happening in the bunk above. Nothing, by all appearances. Bingo is either asleep or already gone. That doesn't stop the blonde below from rapping on the metal frame a few times, incase she's home.

"This is my stop, see you guys next shift." Aleksander says to whoever he was walking with outside as he pulls open the steel door to Bunkroom C in the berthings section of the Dauntless. Through the open door, one could catch the sight of two other Marines walking by, probably to their own designated bunkrooms while the Tauron steps inside. The metallic rapping sound catches his attention and he stops to watch Irene trying to disturb her bunkmate, giving her an odd look before finally shaking his head, "I feel bad for her, if that is your daily morning ritual, I'm not sure how she can get a good night's sleep." A slight curl at the edge of one side of his lips shows he's somewhat amused by pilot's antics as he heads to the bunks on the other side. From the way he is geared, minus the assault rifle and other more powerful armaments besides his personal sidearm, Aleksander has just returned from a patrol mission. First task is to unclasp his tactical armor which he begins when he sits down on the bench, facing his bunk as he does so.

Tap-tap-tap, thrice more on the bedframe. Irene is determined to wake up her friend, who still doesn't stir. She won't be shamed out of it, not by any passing marines. Instead, she calls up sweetly, "Biiiiingo. BiiIIiiIiingo." But nothing. She's either a heavy sleeper or not up there at all. That leaves the blonde free to lose interest entirely, and recompose herself in her bunk. Bare legs are crossed and hands go to mattress so she can hop-scoot to the shelf at the foot of her rack. There she starts going through the other part of her morning ritual; beautification. "How's life on the ground?" She asks idly, looking across at the armor shucking Aleksander.

"Not as bad as Picon," Which doesn't say much since Picon was pretty hellish, Aleksander says with a pause as he undos the clasps of his armor until the the bottom one at the side, having a little trouble with the buckle. That causes him to frown, his ire directed at that last fastener which is irritating him again. "Frakking..." The muttering begs as he begins tugging at it with more force, as if that would solve the issue. "Patrol was much easier than this damn clasp that keeps getting frakking stuck."

Irene's eyes narrow as her gaze gets ever more shiny with curiosity. It must be the clasp issue. Or the swearing. Or something. After a moment of consideration, she unfolds her legs and swings her feet out of the bunk. The rest of her follows in a smooth motion and soon she's upright and padding barefoot across the room. "Well, don't break it." She admonishes as she sidles up and peers at the offending fastener, "Worse, I mean. Let me see." Of course, she sees with her fingers and will start trying to fix it unless persuaded not to.

When reinforcements arrive to battle the clasp that was probably made by a Cylon before the rebellion, Aleksander quits fussing with it and lets go, surrendering. Irene is either has more deft fingers or a lighter touch was needed but she is able to spring the fastener free and the Tauron can feel the armor suddenly lose it's tight snugness that was wrapped around him. Instead of saying thanks immediately, he looks over his shoulder with mock suspicion, "What did you do? Bribe it?" He does sound a little surprised that it was that easy to undo since he has had trouble with it in the past, but it wasn't such a problem where a replacement was deemed necessary. "Do you do that to Bingo if she has a guy over too?" The question asked before he begins lifting the kevlar vest off his shoulders and up over his head.

Gage is not a morning person, and being roused pre-dawn for a patrol that turns out to be dull as anything is, in the end, disappointing. It's probably why the combat engineer appears to be in a grumpy mood as he stomps along the corridor and into the bunkroom. He's still got his tactical vest on, but more important seems to be taking off his boots, collapsing into a seat on his bottom bunk in order to do so. He's tugging at laces as he eyes Irene's assistance of Aleksander, with a mute lift of brows. "I've got one that's stuck, too," he says, with a sudden flash of a grin, clearly making it up.

Magic fingers. That's the answer. Irene wiggles them mysteriously to reveal her peculiar form of witchcraft. WoOOoOOoh. "I think the trick is not having sausage fingers, like you, and I don't think I've ever seen her have trouble getting out of her clothes." She says with a bounce of her shoulders and a brief grin. Such a morning person, she's even cracking wise before she's gone anywhere near a cup of coffee. Hearing the other stompy Tauron, she neatly spins about on her heel and creeps closer to see if he's seriously trapped in his armor too. "Maybe I can cut you out of it." She offers, ever so helpfully.

"Took you long enough." Aleksander says to Gage who finally makes into the bunkroom, spoken with a grin since the other Marine was complaining about how early it was when they were being flown down to Caprica in a Raptor. When Irene mocks his fingers, the Corporal frowns and looks at them, as if trying to judge if he actually has fat fingers or not. "Slender enough to pull the trigger is good enough for the Marines." When she moves on to 'assist' Gage, Aleksander can't help but laugh before giving the other Marine a shrug of his shoulders, as if to say that he dug the hole himself, he will need to climb out of it without his help this time. With his armor off, the Tauron leans it against his bunk before beginning to unlace his boots as well, a sign of relief released as they are pulled off.

Slipping off his boots, Gage heaves a sigh of relief and grimaces at Aleksander's words. "Weren't my fault. Swear I had a what felt like a rock in there that whole fraking time slowing me down," but a shake of his boots seems to reveal nothing. When Irene steps closer, he grins and pushes to his feet, gesturing towards the offending clasp and tugging at it (because that's clearly how he normally opens it!) "Might have to come to that, if you can't help. Or if you're successful, maybe you can start charging a fee for your non sausage fingers?"

"Several hundred million cubits per clasp. Then I can buy my own battlestar." Irene says, deciding on a fee and a use for all her obscene profits right on the spot. Why she'd ever need her own battlestar, or how the colonies would ever cope with her having command of one, she doesn't detail. "Yours doesn't even look that bad. Dav's looks like he squashed it with his mighty giant fingers." She notes, reaching in to pull the clasp apart without much of a fuss besides the initial lean over to get a good look at it first.

Hearing the rock in shoe excuse, Aleksander laughs again as he puts his boots next to his tactical vest, lined up nicely and orderly. Then he rises to his feet and starts unbuckling his belt, undoing the holster first as he lays it out on his bunk before the rest of the belt itself. Then he begins to unfasten his fatigues, undoing the buttons on the shirt so he can toss it in the laundry basket, "I thought we were actually going to junk some toasters at the end when we saw them, but they retreated." A shake of head follows the words of disappointment. He then glances over to Irene and arches a brow, "A battlestar? What in Gods name would you do with a battlestar? Turn it into a giant shopping mall filled with blindingly colorful shirts?" Then when she mentions his large paws crushing the last bottom clasp, Aleksander raises a voice of protest, "Hey now, it was manufactured like that, I had nothing to do with it!"

Gage actually winces at the cost quoted by Irene, and starts to lift his hands as if to belatedly ward off Irene's assistance. "Oh, no. No way I'm buying you a battlestar," but it's probably too late -- there's nothing wrong with the clasp and it falls free with little more than than a tug from the pilot. "Huh, what do you know, thanks Harris," the marine says non-too-apologetically as the clasp seems undamaged. "Yeah. A pity. That ambush point we passed between the buildings would've been perfect for a mine. Could've lured them right in." The engineer does sound almost disappointed about that as he shrugs out of his vest, chuckling low at Aleksander's protest.

"What wouldn't I do with my own battlestar?" Irene answers, not ruling out the shopping mall with tacky neon tourist shirt section. She wouldn't want to be hasty. Still, that's all she's going to volunteer about that particular plan. With clasps undone, armors off and Marines further disrobing, she takes a step back and sits down on the bench in the middle of the room to watch. She is without shame. "Will you guys do my a big favor and maybe go into the mountains and blow up some AA sites on your next patrol?"

Since he isn't a combat engineer, Aleksander had no input on the ambush location where explosives could be perfectly placed but he does nod his head, knowing that Gage is definitely knowledgeable in what he is talking about. "I think they were actually smart enough to realize that we outnumbered them, so they fled." There is a pause before the Tauron adds, "Which makes me think, if they engage us with smaller numbers, I wonder if it means that either they are trying to lure us into a trap or reinforcement are nearby." After that is said, he quickly shakes his head, "Forget it, too much thinking. Above my pay grade. Not my responsibility." Three short phrases spoken rather easily, and definitely not knew for those that know Aleksander for a long time. As for what Irene wouldn't do with a battlestar, he was about to volunteer some options but quickly closes his mouth, rethinking that idea. "Uhh... Tomak is the explosives guy, he can do it for you. I'll just lay out on the pool here on this ship." Responsibility shirked once more!

"You are one scary lady," Gage mutters, more than half under his breath but audible to the others all the same, as he methodically strips out of the remainder of his gear, replacing undershirt with tank tops and fatigues with dark gray sweats. His placement of items isn't quite as neat as Aleksander's, following the philosophy of 'close enough is good enough', it seems. "The fact that they're getting smarter, and copying our tactics is frakking scary. Seen a few neat traps I would've thought was us but turned out not to be, lately." He gives a brief, wry grin at Alek's phrasing, clearly familiar enough that he nods in turn in agreement. Irene's request earns a flicker of brows. "Love to. Point us in their general direction, I'm always happy to blow things up," with a grin that seems absurdly genuine. "Davy can supply cover and the cigarettes we'll smoke while watching the fireworks." Each as important as the other, it seems, throwing a grin towards the other marine.

Irene stretches her legs out as far as she can, crosses her ankles and watches her toes for a moment. They don't do anything really interesting. "Really? On our last big air assault they even had a new type of raider with missiles. Between that thing and the AA from the mountains some of the wing took a major beating. Stirling called the whole deal off before we could even get down through the air cover." Which explains why she was requesting that favor. There's a disappointed, but brief sigh out of her as she puts her palms to the bench behind her and leans back into her arms. "We should copy them and put missile launchers on vipers, and missile launchers on marines too."

When Irene gives them an update on how the Air Wing is doing, Aleksander can't help but arch a brow before he exchanges looks with Gage, "That's not a good sign, if they are getting smarter up there and are becoming more innovative with their designs. The one thing I definitely do not miss here on Caprica compared to Picon is the lack of air cover when we need it." As for missile launchers mounted on Marines, the Tauron scowls at her, "We're not planes, Harris. You can't just mount weapons on us." He then shakes his head at the other Tauron Marine, "Blowing up fortified anti-air sites sounds bothersome, I'll stick to patrols like today. Quiet and boring." The shirt is pulled off as he tosses the top part of his fatigues into the laundry basket, then he lifts up the top section of his bunk so he can pull out the showering kit and a fresh change of clothes.

Gage's brows rise as he listens to Irene's account. "Hadn't heard that," he says, with a brief grimace, returning Aleksander's look. "One of the first major assaults the marines tried took a pounding, too. But yes, having you guys up in the skies looking out for things makes a big difference. Let's hope the ground-based cylons haven't discovered how to hide missile launches in their pants, or something." He snorts at Irene's suggestion and Aleksander's response. "What are you talking about, Davy? That's pretty much all we are. Mobile weapons," with a snorted chuckle, as he swings a leg over the bench and settles down on it sidewards. "Make something small enough to carry, bet we could manage it." He gives a grunt for the other marine. "Tell you what, Davy, you come blow up a few AA sites with me, I'll buy you three cartons at our next layover."

Irene looks vaguely hurt until her missiles-on-marines plan gets a more positive reception from Gage. Vindicated, she goes back to smiling that soft focus way she does. "They're making it rougher by the day. So I wouldn't be surprised if we had to do something about those AA sites eventually. We won't be able to give you guys much support if by the time we get close to the ground we're shot to bits." She works on Davy a little too, giving him the big sad pilot eyes. How can he let her get exploded by missiles?

Bribery is something that works on Aleksander and Gage's words is evidence of that as the former pauses in his preparation to hit the Head. "Three? Make it three cartons and a beer, and it's a deal." He will of course try to finagle a little bit extra out of the deal if he can. Grabbing his towel, the change of clean, folded clothes, and his showering kit, the Corporal looks back to the other two as he takes a seat on the edge of his bunk, easy to do so since he has the bottom one. The pilot puppy eyes only earns her a smirk as her wiley ways does not phase the Marine, "You can buy me a drink too and I will make sure that Gage is covered to blow them up."

"Probably only a matter of time," Gage agrees on the subject of the AA sites. Truthfully, it sounds like he's looking forward to it, but then, he does seem to love that part of his job. "<<Three and a beer,>>" the Tauron accepts the counter, with a grin, holding his hand out to his fellow Tauran to seal the deal. "Good man." He regards Irene across the table, giving a snort. "All that, and you only require a single drink from Harris? You got it easy."

"Hey, I didn't even charge him for unfastening his armor." Irene notes, justifying the one drink only charge as her arms bend and she goes from leaning into her hands to her elbows. "It could be that the toasters are smarter here, on Caprica. Better models, you know?" A theory, surely, but one she's not a hundred percent confident in. "We'll just have to be tougher and meaner." She decides, stretching again right out to the tips of her toes.

With the counter accepted, Aleksander reaches out and shakes Gage's proffered hand, sealing the deal. As for Irene getting the better deal, he laughs and shakes his head, "The extra beer is just a bonus since you were the one that is trying to drag me there." Rising to his feet, the Corporal has his towel, change of clothes in one hand and then his showering kit in the other. The armor and boots are left for now, probably to be stored away when he gets back. When Irene mentions smarter Cylons here, Aleksander can't help but frown at the thought, "Wonder if they have renegade Capricans working for them." Sounds like he has no love for Capricans from his previous life. "Well, I'm going to hit the head."

Hands are shaken, and the deal is sealed; Gage looks pleased with the bargain from his end. Irene's words earn a snort as he glances the pilot's way, "So it costs him a beer," the marine jerks a thumb towards Aleksander, "But I owe you Several hundred million cubits? Talk about inflation," the marine grumbles. Gage, no fan of Capricans either, probably for much the same reason as Aleksander, raises brows at the other marine's words. "I doubt even Capricans would sink that low." He lifts fingers by way of farewell to Aleksander, nodding.

"That would be low." Irene agrees, watching the pair of Taurons about equally, gaze shifting lazily back and forth between them as she relaxes there on the bench. She grins at the inflation complaint, but doesn't offer to reduce the cost by even one cubit. "I should go that way eventually too. Wooley gets upset when I show up for shift smelly and disheveled." Not that it seems even halfway plausible that she would. With that in mind, she pops up, brushes off her backside absently and wanders back to her ground floor bunk to grab her kit too.

With the others making their farewells, Gage, too, pushes to his feet. Sure, showering after a long patrol would be the logical idea, and he does eye his kit for a moment, but then he reaches in and grabs a deck of triad cards instead. "Tell that ECO of yours to steer you away from any AA -- that or make sure to mark 'em for us to blow up later, Harris," is said with a rueful smile as he straightens, tucking the cards into a pocket.


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