Alain visits Astraea while she recovers. There's talk of who wears the crash crown and threats of soup rather than cake are made.
Related Scenes: None
Scene Number: 433
It's been a couple of days since the crash; since Astraea was returned to the ship. Pitbull was returned to the barracks -- but not to duty -- fairly quickly. His injuries were minimal, the cockpit having taken the brunt of the damage. He was able to pass along the news to the rest of the Wolves. It's been long enough, however, for the Scorpian to get through those initial first days of recovery. The ones where you just sleep through the pain and morpha. Where visitors pass in a blur.
Nova is propped upright in her bed, pillows and blanket tucked in around her. There's a wheeled table across her lap with a vid player setup and some movie or another playing. She's not really paying close attention, but rather fumbling with her off-hand and a spoon in a bowl of mashed potatoes. Her right arm is bandaged and bundled close to her body. That side has the most work done to it; bandages, stitches, and so on. Signs of burn repair, too, in a couple spots.
Alain was one of those visitors. The first time -- with one of those cake-in-a-mug cakes -- which didn't much help since Nova was too out of it to even admire his handiwork. This latest time, Alain's dressed in casual, if typically neat clothing. "Well, you look slightly less worse than last time, if that counts for something," comes the Gemenese pilot's oh-so-cheerful greeting, setting a book on her bedside table as he regards her, grinning.
"I dreamt ya came by," Astraea says, dropping the spoon in the bowl; happy for the distraction. She leans back against the pillows, looking over to the other pilot with a small smile. "Guess it wasn't a dream, then." She drops her good hand to settle on her abdomen. "Can't say I remember much, so forgive anythin' stupid I said or did, yeh?" Which likely wasn't much more than incoherent mumbling at best. She casts a look towards the book, briefly, before returning her gaze to Alain himself. "It's good to see ya, Jigger. Not takin' ya away from anythin' important am I?"
"I hope I was decent," comes Alain's quick retort, with a smile. "Not sure, what was I doing?" he lifts his gaze towards the ceiling, before he puffs out a breath. "It's fine. You didn't embarrass yourself or anything," he reassures her, as he locates a chair nearby and pulls it close to her bedside, settling himself there. "I've got Alert a bit later, but wanted to see if you were actually awake and coherent. You seem to drool a lot when you're on morpha, you know?" he's probably teasing her, judging by that grin.
"Yer always decent. A perfect gentleman. Could do with a little less decency if y'ask me." Astraea offers a flash of a smile in return. "I'm glad ya stopped by while I'm able ta remember properly." She reaches for the vid player to hit the pause button; able to manage that with her off-hand, at least. When he mentions that she drools, she does reach over to smack at his leg with a look of put-on offense. "Yer not supposedta comment on that! Ya overlook th' drool an' all else when a squadron mate is injured. Supposedta tell me how pretty I look an' other such things. Make me feel better 'bout bein' laid up an' all th' scars I'll be suck with."
"I can't help but be what I am," Alain offers easily, as to her challenge of him being too decent. He glances at the vid she was watching, out of curiosity, but his attention quickly turns to her. "Truth is, I'm never good when a squadron mate is injured," he admits, with a grimace. "So -- what's your thing when you're holed up? Puzzles, gossip, fashion? I took a guess at a book to start with," he pats the one he's put at her bedside. "It's in Gemenese, but there's translations beneath too."
"A girl can dream." And be a bit looser of tongue when there's still some morpha in her system, apparently. The vid was some cartoon, apparently. Colorful, probably easy to follow even when drugged. Perfect for recovery and likely picked by someone else in the wing. Her smile does soften, a bit, into something sympathetic. "Least I'll be back. Should make a full recovery an' all. They wouldn't've brought me back here otherwise, y'know?" She looks to the book again, making a thoughtful sound. "Did a lot of drawin' when I was recoverin' after th'... incident on Scorpia, but-" there's a tilt of her head towards her arm. "Can't do that now. A book might be nice. What's this one about?"
"You know, you could've pretended to have been worse off -- maybe snuck in some shore leave somewhere while recovering," Alain suggests with a grin. "But yeah. Figure they'll have you back on your feet in no time." His glance flickers to her bandaged arm. "You could practice drawing left-handed for a while?" he suggests for a moment, before he laughingly dismisses it. "Oh, mostly stories about Athena and her hunts. They're pretty interesting, but also a bit gruesome, so I suggest avoiding some of the ones towards the back if you're feeling at all queasy."
There's a snort from Astraea at that. "I doubt I'd have gotten far. My luck they'd toss me on a hospital ship rather than planetside. Some shore leave that'd be." She does grin in return, at least. "As for drawin' left-handed-" she reaches for the spoon for her potatoes again and fumbles with it a few times before looking at Alain with a raised brow. "I can do my job fine, but for some reason, holding things like a spoon or pen just ain't in th' cards." When he describes the book, she turns more towards it. "Oh now I'm curious- th' more gruesome th' better."
"Hospital ship, ugh. Imagine the food." Alain's already shuddering just to think of it. "You're right, bad idea," he concedes. He watches her fumble with the potatoes with a brief laugh. "I... maybe the food's just not enticing enough to make you work really hard at it?" he suggests. "I can try and sneak in some cake tomorrow, if I can convince someone to make some?" As for the book: "No pictures, thankfully. But if you like it, I can ask my mother to send more. It's a lot easier to get mail quicker, now that we're close."
"Cake would be good," Astraea agrees, brightening at that. "My stomach's settled, but y'know how they are in here." Limited menu and all. "You'd be my hero iff'n ya got me somethin' good like that." She flashes a broader grin at the Viper pilot. When he mentions getting more books, she purses her lips. "Mebbe." There's a tilt of her head. "That's right, we ain't far from Gemenon here. Ya heard from family much? I mean, y'can't call an' all, but I'm guessin' ya get letters faster."
"I'll see about sneaking in some for you after I'm off Alert," Alain promises. He rubs a hand briefly over his chin at her question about his family. "Sometimes... the distance is good, you know? Having that time to consider what you might want to write... it's weird, I know. Besides, they'll always worry if they know where I am -- I don't ever plan to tell them I was in Picon." There's a slight tightening of his jaw -- the shadow of that particular fierce battle still visible, if briefly.
"Yer Kobol's blessin', Alain, for sure." And all it takes is the promise of cake. But when you've been laid up recovering, the simple things truly become life's pleasure. As he explains things with his family, Astraea's mouth draws to the side a bit in thought. "They'll worry about ya either way, I'm sure. An' be proud of ya nonetheless. Ya made it through Picon. An' with fewer crashes than yer usually prone, too."
Alain grimaces at the reminder of crashing. "I've only crashed like twice, and not at all in the last couple of jaunts. I think you might be outstripping me for the title soon, Nova," he tells her, with a brief smile. "Try crashing less in future, huh?" He taps fingers against his leg, drumming to some tune in his head, as he says, "I've heard maybe we're going to help out with some major push later in the week." He pauses a moment, "How long before you're out of here?" with a low chuckle.
"Between you an' me, I think I already have," Astraea admits in a quiet voice. "But I think we oughta keep up appearances. You wear th' title better than I do." There's a flash of smile for him, too. "Ain't like I try crashin'. I swear those rockets are just drawn to my ride." She leans back into her pillows, letting out a breath. "Out soon, I hope. But to fly-" she lifts the bandaged arm carefully. "Dunno... Soon? I hope."
Alain straightens, and adjusts an invisible crown somewhere above his head. "I do look pretty good with the crash-king crown," he concedes with a laugh, before her latter words cause them to fade. "Those missiles are nasty, and they do seem to have a penchant for targeting our raptors," he says, with a frown. "Well, when you get out, let me know. I can... oh... get your food blended so you can drink everything, since you're having trouble with," he lifts his left hand as he grins at her, clearly teasing.
"Ya look positively dashin', Jigger," Astraea concedes, laughing at the invisible crown and its adjustment. Her own grin fades when he mentions the raptors and their missiles. "Sadly, most of my crashes have been from th' shoulder-mounted rockets th' centurions carry. Thankfully I ain't had marines aboard when it's happened. I'd hate ta lose some of 'em, y'know?" When he teases her, however, she scoffs and, in lieu of anything to throw at him, smacks at whichever leg is in reach again. "I swear, if yer ever laid up, I'm just makin' soup. No cakes for you."
Alain gives her a hard look in return at her threat of soup, "Don't worry. I'd have my ways of getting cakes in here, next time I'm stuck here." Clearly he considers it only a matter of time. With an exhale, he pushes to his feet, moving to return the chair to its original position. "I should head off and get ready for Alert. I might bring you cake after, might be soup. Just have to wait and see." His grin is entirely unrepentant.
"Uh-huh. But mug cake ain't th'same as th'cakes I make an' you know it." Astraea grins up at Alain as he takes to his feet. She looks to the book again, then back to him, her expression sobering a bit. "Hope it's an uneventful one. Lotsa time jes' sittin' around playin' wit' a Triad deck that's missin' a card or two." For th' last, she snorts. "I wasn't th' one mockin' a poor injured soul." She leans to reach for the book he left, grabbing it carefully. "Thank you for bringin' this."