2237-08-21 - Without A Cure

Two friends discuss life over a cup of Virgon's finest. Emrys asks for Micah's advice about how to cure an old problem. Also? Cylon benches.

Date: 2237-08-21

Location: Brass Bunkroom

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 420

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Micah Knoor had been up rather early. Unfortunately, after hygiene was conducted, he disappeared for CAP shortly thereafter. There was a solace Knoor found in flying. And he seemed to volunteer to jump behind the stick any time an opportunity presented itself. The rest of his evening had been spent in the Squadron Office, consulting mapped locations of entrenched Marine positions with a critical eye. It would seem that the Caprican battlefield of Delphi had earned some of his extra attention. So, as the day began to wind down, Micah migrated. He'd found his familiar shorts and 'Timber Wolves' tee shirt, earlier, so his return to the 'Brass Bunkroom' is only marked by the possession of two steaming paper cups. Tea, it would seem, would be the perfect end to a long day.

Right now, the rest of the inhabitants of said 'Brass Bunkroom' are elsewhere. Except for Emrys Montjoy, who is sitting on his bunk. The man is playing 'Air Harp', practicing his fingering on an invisible instrument while he sings softly along to help himself keep time. It's an old song, bemoaning 'the grey in my hair, and the age in my eyes' among other things.

Micah listens and smiles, his head tilting in appreciation of the solid cadence and the sad tilt to that song. He doesn't offer a word before crossing the room, avoiding the bench that seemed to have it out for him, and holding one of the steaming cups up to Emrys' bunk. "Virgan. With only a splash of milk. Because anything else would be criminal."

"Why thank you." Emrys opens his hands as the song concludes. The nice thing about air instruments is a real harp would now be on the floor all smashed up. But instead he's free to take the tea, breathing it in appreciatively. "Long day?"

"Of course. And yeah, a bit. I got an early start, anyway. So I think it makes it feel as though everything drags on." Micah mirrors the gesture with his own cup, breathing in the steam for a moment before tipping the liquid gently against his lips. "Well, and Delphi's probably been keeping me up at night. My kid sister went to college here. It's odd to fire weapons at their government buildings." He pauses, tilting his chin to indicate Hawk's hands. "What was that you were practicing? Harp?"

Emrys takes a sip of his tea, nodding understandingly. "Yeah, I can only imagine how it would feel taking out the Virgon landscape." A pause. "And yes, harp. It's...even the lap models we don't really have room for, so I just make do with memory and fingering exercises." There's a pause, as he sips more tea then asks "How are things with that marine you were looking cozy with the other day?"

Micah raises an eyebrow. "You just need to learn where to hide things, my friend." His words hold no small amount of amusement, even as the weight of his body comes to lean on the edge of Emrys' bunk. Breathing in, he visits that tea again. "With Abigail? Things are wonderful." The cup is swirled a bit, though the pilot's eyes seem to be more intently on Hawk than on his drink. "I'm honestly surprised you haven't seen her around here."

Emrys shakes his head at that, chuckling softly. "Perhaps, perhaps." More tea is ingested, as he commits the name to memory. "Abigail, right. I'm glad to hear it. And no, I haven't. I guess either I've just missed her visits, or my attention has been elsewhere."

"It's probably for the best. Didn't she threaten to ruin the finances once?" Micah makes a motion to his face with one finger, spinning in a circling gesture, and smiling. "I'm sure you'll catch her around eventually. She's awesome. And, if you manage to get out of a conversation without major injuries, I think you'd actually like her." He pauses long enough to tip that tea back again. The one beautiful thing about Capricans was some of them seemed to enjoy the best pieces from nearly every other culture. "How's the romantic front on your end? I haven't seen any embarrassed young girls running out of here wearing only a sheet."

"She did. Although she seemed like she'd be willing to negotiate down to a kick in the knee or similar." Hawk evidently maintains a sense of humor about the encounter. "If she likes you, I'm sure she's good people." There's a shrug then. "Eh, it's about as dead as it has been up to this point. Although..." He pauses. "I don't suppose you know how to get rid of a crush?"

Micah raises an eyebrow. "How to get rid of a crush?" This seems to take a bit of the pilot's thought. His head tilts a bit to the side, seeming to inspect the space above Emrys' bunk. One thing seems to hitch his thought, though, and when he speaks, Knoor sounds like he already knows the answer. "I take it sleeping with her isn't an option?"

"No, sleeping with her isn't an option." Emrys shakes his head firmly on that one. "The whole point is I want the crush to no longer be there, not make it worse." The tea is finished off. "Crazy, I know, especially around this place. But that's the goal."

"Well, sometimes getting it out of your system helps. It kills the attraction to the mystery." Micah offers, tipping his head to the option a bit. "But without sleeping with her? I don't know if there is a magical cure." He, too, finishes off his tea, glancing down at the cup in either disappointment or satisfaction. "It'd probably involve either talking to her or avoiding her. Though either one of those may hurt you more than the crush does." He looks up, head tilting as he considers the older man for a moment. "Who is she, Hawk? Anyone I know?"

"It wouldn't really be gentlemanly of me to say, all things considered." Emrys decides, which is probably as close to an answer in the affirmative as Micah will get. "This place is a hothouse for rumors, and while I trust you implicity...sometimes I feel like there's always a jig in the lockers, listening to everything we say." Paranoid much, Hawk? "Well, if those are my options...I think I'll just have to soldier on, and put up with it. It'll pass, I'm sure. Imagine, a crush, at my age. Like some schoolboy back on Virgon. Ridiculous."

"You sound like you're ready to trip over the doorstep and fall into a coffin." Micah chuckles, turning the cup in idle hands. "You're not that much older than I am. And I'm in about neck deep in a crush of my own, so I think we'll have to chalk it up in the 'Old, nod dead' column." His words do cause Knoor to turn a bit, though, still leaning on the bed but enabling himself to scan the rest of the bunks and lockers. "And yeah. I get the same feeling. 'Loose lips sink ships'." The old military saying is offered idly. "Whatever you decide to do, my friend, I'm literally right across the room. And you know me, if there's a chance to get out of here and drink a cup of coffee or smoke a cigar? You need not even ask."

"Well, I guess. But I mean...is it a crush? It looks like you've moved a bit beyond the crush. And I can't imagine you blushing just because she mentions...anyway." Emrys looks mournfully at his empty cup for a moment. "It's much appreciated. Maybe sometime we can both get out of here and you can introduce me to your Abigail properly, see if we can't get off on the right foot after all." A pause, before he adds "Exactly. Cherry says there's a lot of drama going on among the junior officers. I have no desire to find myself in it, even just tangently."

"I don't think you're going to be able to avoid it. We all end up in the drama to some degree or another." Micah smirks, folding the edges of that paper cup over to make it look a lot more like a box than anything else. "Just control the conversation." He says that with a shrug. "Maybe we can get you out on the town the next time we're on shore leave? I can play wingman. I've always had a talent for drawing a crowd." Knoor reaches a hand out, clearly meant for Emrys' empty cup. "And the sort of crowd I think you need, no less."

Emrys passes the cup back, nodding thoughtfully. "We could do that. I think a night out could be fun, next time we can do it." A pause. "I probably won't be looking for anyone in that way, but there's nothing saying we can't just go out and have fun. Drink some drinks, smoke some cigars, maybe wake up in the brig. Hopefull not, but you never know."

"Well, no one says we have to drink those drinks or smoke those cigars alone." Micah moves over to the door side trash can, tossing in both chunks of cardboard with a satisfying thunk. "And no one says it has to go further than company. I think we could use a night like that, though. A time where we can relax and only worry about the man on your wing rather than the squadron at your back." The soft sounds of a laugh accompany his words. "And I would never discount the brig entirely. You never know how highly you'll achieve until you try."

"True enough, on all counts." Emrys lands on the floor with a soft thump, having finally decided to dismount his perch. There's a grin then. "It's not truly high achievement until we have regular bed assignments there and our own monogrammed towels, though."

"I have fifty cubits that says that Whisper would have us poisoned well before that happens." Micah replies, turning just in time to bump his knee into the room's bench. Again. "Ow." Is all he offers, with a raised eyebrow and a firm set to his jaw. It was the most sophisticated expression of pain a man could make. "You know, we can't have senior pilots slandering the reputation of the crew." His hand rubs his knee, head shaking. "Even if the manner of the ruining would be the sort of tale men would write stories about."

Emrys shakes his head as the bench attacks Micah once again. "That thing has it out for you, man." He observes, before laughing softly. "You're probably right, although I hope she'd have the courtesy to at least shoot us in the back of the head or similar. Poison's no way for a pilot to die."

"Every time I turn around. I swear, it moves just to hit me." That simple statement causes every muscle in Micah's body to freeze, his eyes settling very spitefully on the bunk room's bench. "Tell me honestly. What are the chances of that bench being a Cylon? Do you think anyone would fault me if I shot it? You know, to make sure?" He looks up then, finishing the massage of his knee and straightening to full height. "Full executions, though? You think the Major has that in her? I know she's another one on the anti-vegetable train... But damn. That'd be a cold Stirling."

"I mean...it is made entirely of metal. So that's a point in favor of cylon." Emrys muses. "And if you did shoot it, and it turns out not to be, we could probably spin 'It was an nd' a lot easier than 'He thought it was a cylon'. Less likelyhood of being put on no fly and sent to the headshrinker." A pause, as he considers the question of executions. "I don't think she's that cold, no. But..it's nice than poison."

"How about 'it attacked me and I was defending my life'?" Micah seems bitter toward the inanimate object. Thankfully, though, no mark of the fight seems to have colored his knee. He'd never hear the end of that. "It may be kinder than poison, but it's so much louder. That goes against her callsign, man. That's like throwing your finger up at your gods." He smirks. "I, though? Have to attend to a man involving a dog. Pull me out of bed if you need to chew the fat, my friend. Copy?"

"Copy. And remember it goes both ways. Good luck with your business. I'm going to go for a walk, I think." Emrys gives his friend a grateful nod, and then heads toward the door. Off to who knows where.


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