Everyone's gotta wash their clothes. Not everyone has to agree.
Related Scenes: None
Scene Number: 469
It's the day after the Delphi campaign. And while there's some celebrations about having successfully retaken the city, there's still work to be done -- and on the ship, there's still chores to be done. Other than a belated celebratory beer, Alain's mostly kept to the chapel or to himself. Laundry, to some, is a boring chore, but to others it is soothing -- the Gemenese perhaps being one of the latter -- given he's settled comfortably in a chair, eyes closed, as the humming and rattling of the various washers and driers creates a soothing background noise.
Many engaged in celebrations after the battle, but Astraea had gone straight to the berthings and passed out. She wasn't one-hundred percent for the sortie and it had worn her out. Even as the others in her bunkhall had filed in, the woman had barely stirred. Just rolled over and fallen back asleep. Her locker had rested half-open with her flight suit stuffed inside. That knock -- more than, truly -- to the head she'd taken in the previous combat she'd been in had been worse than she'd been letting on to most, but it likely came clear in how fast she'd gone to bed and how late she'd slept.
...and the fact that she was cleared, medically, to miss her duty rotation. They needed her in that battle. She performed well enough. But Nova? Was really not quite one-hundred percent. The Scorpian pilot makes her way into the laundry now with her bag, dressed in her PT attired; sweatpants slung low around her hips and dual tanks skirting just above them. When they bare the dark skin of her midsection, her left side shows the black ink of her Scorpian culture, but the right is still marred by healing burns of yet another recent crash. Picon was bad, but somehow Delphi has been worse. It's not until she's midway through loading a washer that she notices Alain sitting nearby. There's a small smile for him. "Hey."
Nora is dressed almost identically to Astraea, in sweats and tanks, only the top and bottom edges of her tattoo visible, the flowering stalks of asphodel twining down her left bicep and curling out the edge of her collar. She carries a laundry bag, and smiles at her fellow pilots as she comes down the row of washers until she finds one that's empty. "Evening," she greets them, and then a pause, "It's Nova, isn't it?" she asks the woman two washers down, her accent unmistakably Virgan, though it lacks the cut-glass quality of the planet's notorious upper crust, "I'm pleased to see you on your feet, you seem to be taking quite the beating lately."
Whatever Alain was doing -- likely as not praying, at a guess -- it takes him moments more of stillness before he stirs and opens his eyes, settling on Astraea with a smile. "Hey," he returns in kind, straightening. "How are you doing?" Despite the battle being won, there's still a lingering tension in the Gemenese pilot's posture, though he's attentive enough. Despite his off-duty clothes, they're worn just as neatly and wrinkle-free as his uniform is. He gives a nod and a smile to Nora, "Evening, Shirts -- right?"
That smile shifts when Nora addresses her. Not in a negative way; there's just a different quality to it. Alain gets a certain kind of smile from Astraea. Still, when the Virgan pilot mentions that she's been taking a beating lately, Nova grimaces slightly and turns back to filling her chosen washer. "Yeh, run out my luck I s'ppose." Her own accent is Scorpian, but from the streets. Not uneducated so much as unrefined. When Alain addresses her again, she gives a small, uncertain shrug as she adds soap to the washer and closes it, setting it to running. "Was gonna try findin' ya last night, but I fell asleep instead. Sorry 'bout that."
Astraea sets her bag and soap atop the washer to mark it as her own, moving away towards the chairs. "I'm jes' glad we secured Delphi. Either of ya heard where we're headin' next?"
Nora nods to Alain, confirming. "Nora. Skinner. You're--Jigger?" Her head tilts, eyebrows too, and teeth sink into lip, open about her uncertainty. There are a lot of names to learn, after all. She pours detergent into the machine before she begins to load her laundry into it, every bit of it Navy-issue. She shakes her head at Astraea. "If there's been gossip on the subject I've not heard it. Do you imagine we'll remain at Caprica? Perhaps a new system would bring you new luck, Nova."
Shaking his head, Alain says, carefully, "It was a hard battle, last night," a beat, "And I needed some time alone after, too." Probably in his typical thinking location -- the chapel. "Too soon for speculation about where we're going, I think. Haven't even heard if we're getting shore leave between or not, yet. I'd imagine we'll stay for another week or so to help the Capricans clean up anyway." With a confirming nod towards Nora, he says, "Yes, Jigger," with a smile. "Have you met Socks yet? I desperately want to make some joke about Shirts and Socks and the laundry, but jokes aren't really my forte," he admits, wryly.
"Doubtful," Astraea says in answer to Nora; perhaps a bit darkly. "I suspect it has more to do with somethin' else than Caprica." Even if it's where she went to Academy. She settles heavily in a chair, looking to Alain with a touch of sympathy when he mentions needing alone time. "Ain't been long enough since we had shore leave, I imagine. Fleet ain't that kind. We'll prob'ly be sent elsewhere on Caprica for support, yeh." She leans back, closing her eyes... though a smile does form. "I was hopin' for someone named Mittens m'self, but Shirts works. Maybe somethin' 'bout hangin' 'em to dry? We can work on it, Jigs."
Nora looks briefly nonplussed by Astraea's reply, but she lets it lie with just a lingering look of faint confusion and concern before turning back to smile at Alain. "No, I've not met anyone by that name as yet. What does Socks fly?" She digs the last item out of her bag and when it proves to be a sock, holds it up with a short laugh before dropping it into the machine and shutting the lid. "We can come back to the joke once you've had some time to brainstorm," she suggests, "I have faith you can come up with something. When was the last time you all had leave?"
Shifting in his chair, Alain smooths out an invisible wrinkle in his dual tank tops. "Those missiles kill us out there. We have to work together to focus on the AA a lot more." There's a hardness in his voice, if briefly, that is probably the reason he went straight on to attack the SAMs in last night's battle. It takes him a moment to respond on the latter, taking a deep breath first. "Or Kittens?" he adds, kind of blandly, even grimacing himself at how bad that is. "He flies vipers, same as us. I'm sure you'll get a chance to be on his wing sooner or later. As for leave, about a month? Which, as Nova says, is probably too soon for more leave, unfortunately." A brief pause, "That's a Virgon accent, right?"
"Iff'n we had Kittens an' Mittens, we'd need Puppies an'..." Astraea's face screws up as she considers. Likely, she prefers playing with call signs and the puns and jokes therein to thinking about missiles and the like. She's just opted to settle in a chair next to Alain to wait out her wash. "Guppies? We could have a whole squadron dedicated ta pets." There's a small, sideways smile. "An' laundry." There's a nod when he mentions leave. "Roughly a month, yeh. An' it was a fairly long leave, too. Chances are we're jes' done with Delphi, but not Caprica. We'll prob'ly get a few days quiet here on th' ship, then new marchin' orders off to a new part of th' planet."
Nora sobers at Alain's comment, nodding in agreement as she figures out the settings on the machine and sets the washer running. She doesn't move to sit just yet, leaning a hip against the machine instead as she listens. "Most likely," is more agreement, "A month would be unusually soon, at least in my experience. But this is an unprecedented conflict." And that lifts her shoulders in a shrug. Who knows. "It is," she tells Alain, "I'm sorry I don't recognize yours. I've no ear for that sort of thing I suppose."
"Who do you reckon'd hate being called 'Puppies' the most?" because Alain's of the school of thought that no one should ever get assigned a callsign that they actually love. "Hawk, maybe? He's got way too cool a callsign right now," he adds, with a laugh, clearly not that serious. He nods towards Astraea, clearly in agreement with her assessment. "It's a shame. I hoped to get a chance to get planetside at Delphi -- I've never actually visited before." For someone known to be pretty religious, it's probably a big deal to him. "I'm from Gemenon," he answers Nora, with a smile. "Not too many people recognize it -- there aren't too many of us enlisted as a whole, let alone in the Wolves."
"We usually get leave when we need ta restock," or get a whole new ship. "An' we seem to be pretty good, so... Yeh, probably ain't gonna happen, 'm afraid. Sorry iff'n you were lookin' forward to Argentum Bay." Astraea tries a small smile for Nora. For Alain's theory, she mulls, but finally nods. "But I'd jes' call 'im Puppy, not Puppies. Might try it on for size th' next time I see him. See how he reacts." There's a small grin, in answer to the Viper's laugh. It fades, quickly, when he admits to never visiting Delphi nor the temple there. "Really?" She frowns. "Well... I have. I went to Academy on Caprica. Iff'n y'want, I can tell ya about it? I know it ain' th' same, but..." She shrugs.
It never was fun being a 'Rook'. You got the worst shifts, worst jobs, and you got to hear the name 'Rook' a lot. That is Verity's current opinion as she makes her way into the Loundry Room - less than thrilled she was now having to deal with Laundry as well. She makes her way over towards one of the Washers and hits a button - tossing her laundry into it. The standard grumble to herself as she realizes she doesn't have any detergent and glances around to see if there's a community option for such travesties.
"No, not sure I've ever met anyone from Gemenon," Nora admits with an apologetic smile for Alain, "But I'm pleased to make your acquaintance now, of course." She folds up her laundry bag, fiddling with the string as she arches a brow at Astraea. "Is that where you take your shore leave? All the way back to Scorpia? I'd no idea. I've only been back on duty myself for a few months, I've no call to be pining for leave already." As Verity enters she glances back over her shoulder and gives a nod of greeting, but doesn't notice her predicament.
"Clue me in when you plan to do so, Nova. I'd like to watch." Or participate, whichever. Alain's grinning from where he's seated in one of the chairs at the table. Shaking his head, he says, "I never got a chance to travel before I enlisted. I've seen plenty of pictures but... who even knows how much of it is undamaged now, though." He's frowning at the thought. "If I know marines," and he should, having been one of them, "If there was a choice between saving a building and killing a cylon, it's always going to be the latter." Verity's arrive earns an easy smile and a nod from the other pilot. "Hey, Flameout. Yeah, Shirts -- it's far enough back from the battles that we can actually relax. The surf is decent, too, if you're into that sort of thing," though at his mention of surfing there's a brief grimace, there and gone, from the Gemenese pilot.
There's a nod towards Verity when she arrives, but Astraea's attention returns to Nora when she asks about Scorpia. "Aye, an' it's where th' Shipyards are, so it's sorta become, I s'ppose, th' center of operations fer th' fleet. At least as far as stockin' up an' takin' leave goes." For Alain there's a bit of a grin. "I'll make sure ta grab ya, wherever yer at. So-" She leans, where she sits in a chair next to the Gemenese pilot to bump her shoulder to his. "If I interrupt ya in th' chapel, forgive me, yeh?" Plotting a bit of a prank, apparently. "As for Delphi... From what I saw in th' battle, didn't look like th' Cylons were treatin' it too kindly, either. But maybe I can at least give ya some insight as so how I remember it."
"Hey.." The redhead responds with a wave of her hand before she looks back over at her basket with a grumble. A soft exhale and she pushes off with her foot to walk over towards the Trio with a dip of her head, "Is there a community detergent or anything? We've been so busy that I don't think I've bought any..and I'm not sure if I am supposed to purchase it?" She looks confused and then frowns as the final words finally sink and shakes her head, "Oh.. I'm sorry." Her hands coming up with palms out, "I didn't mean to disturb your conversation.." A soft exhale as her cheeks darken, "I'll bug someone else.. I'm sure there's got to be a detergent fairy somewhere here.."
Nora takes those explanations in stride, nodding at Nova and Jigger where they sit. "I suppose that makes sense," she says, before her mouth tips into a crooked smile, "I've never been much for beaches. Not the Scorpian kind, anyway. I'm lucky if my skin's not a match for my hair after an hour out." She pats one freckled arm, and then twists again to look at Verity. "You can borrow mine if you need," she offers, "If there's any free about I've not seen it."
"A not so home away from home," Alain agrees with Astraea's assessment of the Scorpian base. "And I'm hoping we might get to visit in person, once things are more secured." Verity's words earn a brief furrow of brow, and then a low laugh from Alain, not unkind however. "Not interrupting, Flameout," he assures her, rising to his feet. "We'll make sure you get to wash your Mittens," he adds, grinning as he strides over to the cupboard where the detergent is kept, with a 'voila' gesture, with a grin at Nora. "Whatever else the CF makes us pay for, they like us to keep clean. Some people buy their own, since this isn't those softy-softness brands, but it does well enough for uniforms."
"Could always go to th'beach 'round sunset, or at night. It's warm 'nough still for that," Astraea points out for Nora's sake. "As for detergent-" But Jigger's got it. "I recommend buyin' some at th' Canteen. It ain't expensive an' th' free stuff always makes me itch." But then, she's probably got some sort of allergy to it that most don't. It's not like the naval medical unit's going to bother diagnosing such things. The Scorpian jig leans back, stretching out her legs a bit. Not that she takes up much more room, being one of the -- if not the -- shortest pilots on the squadron.
As Nora speaks, her eyes light up and she nods, "Great.. Thank you.." She looks to Alain, "Well the conversation sounded serious.. After everything that just happened.." Verity counters and shrugs, "I know that tensions and emotions can be high. So I try to make sure I'm aware." Though a brief pause and she shakes her head, "Alas.. I think I left my mittens at Virgon. I'll have to remember that next time we're over." A brief smile at the attempt at a joke. Her hands come behind her and she pauses a moment, "Wait a second.. We can have a softy-softness brand? I've been doing this wrong!" A soft chuckle and she glances at AStrea and nods her head. There's a shrug of her shoulder as she somewhat inserts herself into the conversation, "I've not really been to many other planets except for Sagitarron and Virgon. It sounds like the other colonies could be quiet lovely.. If not for the war." (Verity)
"Aha," Nora exclaims quietly as Alain reveals the cache of free detergent. "I'm not sure how I missed it. Thank you, Jigger." Astraea's addition draws another nod, more thoughtful, and she turns the bottle of detergent sitting atop her bag to peer at the label. "I'm not sure which I've bought," she admits, "Beyond the cheapest the canteen stocked. I suppose I'll shortly find out how bad it itches." Her grimace is short-lived, already gone as she pushes herself up to sit on the edge of the washer she's using. "How does Delphi compare to the other places you've been so far?" she asks the the longer-tenured Wolves, glancing between Astraea and Alain, "I've little to measure last night's battle against as yet."
"Pretty sure that's all in your head, Nova," Alain teases Astraea, with a grin, "Never had a problem with the free stuff, myself." With an amused snort, he adds, "The softy-soft brand is the super expensive one, I hear it makes your clothes smell like flowers or sunshine or kittens, or some combination thereof," the pilot just shakes his head wryly. Although the tip of his head acknowledges Nora's explanation of her apology, he doesn't seem apt to linger on it, instead heading over to one of the machines when it beeps. He starts transferring his clothing to a dryer -- all standard issue items. There's something briefly tense in his posture at Nora's question, and he pauses for a moment to glance back, "Picon was... worse, I think. But we've taken a heavy beating in the last week or so, so that might change when all told. Lost some... good people." One of those undoubtedly being Banshee, widely known as Jigger's usual wingman.
"Before th' war, I'd never been to any planets save Scorpia an' Caprica... Now I've been to Scorpia, Caprica, an' Picon. So it ain't like I'm well travelled or nothin'." Astraea gives a small shrug in Verity's direction. Alain earns a bit of her tongue sticking out in response to his tease. "I think iff'n it made you itch, you wouldn't admit to it. Makes yer clothes all stiff an' you like that too much." Her washer hasn't finished yet, so she stays put. She does watch Jigger as he answers Nora, considering his words even as she mulls over her own answer. "I... only got Picon to compare. I served on Scorpia for a while b'fore I was transferred to th' Wolves, but... I mean, I've had worse injuries on Caprica, sure-" a long stint in sickbay, that shot through her cockpit knocking her out in the same battle that took Banshee out of the fight. "But Picon was..." She shakes her head. "Endless an' so many civilians, too." Nova bites her lip. "Got shot down over a city once an' had to make my way through th' streets, avoidin' Centurion patrols to find others. We don't gotta worry 'bout shit like that here." The Caprican military has enough numbers on the ground to counteract.
"Yea.. Well hopefully there'll be a chance to travel not by military vessel one day." Verity says with a shrug in return to. She looks at the Detergent and then glacnes back up with a nod of her head, "Thanks.." A brief smile and then dips her head, "I'll rememeber that about the Canteen.. Enjoy the rest of your day.." And with that she takes a step back and heads back to her laundry to get it started and head back out.. A day to get things done.
Nora doesn't miss the way Alain's posture and manner shift along with the topic of conversation, and she holds a sympathetic silence for a minute or two, just listening as he and Astraea discuss past postings and recent losses. She lifts a hand to Verity in farewell as the ensign exits, but her attention is clearly torn, especially as Astraea talks about the state of the ground on Picon. Something tightens in her face as well, in the hinge of her jaw and the tendons of her neck, even as she nods. She keeps nodding a beat too long not to make the pause slightly awkward before replying. "True, that the city was evacuated is a relief. I was on Leonis when it began. It was...ugly."
Alain finishes filling the drier with the remainder of his clothes, presses a few buttons to switch it one, and watches a couple of tumbles before, satisfied, he retakes his seat next to Astraea, making a face at her. "It really seems fine to me." But the accusation of stiff clothing isn't exactly something he disputes. After a moment, he nods, slowly. "We were badly outnumbered in the air in Picon. Felt like we were hiding moreso than attacking." A feeling the ex-marine clearly didn't enjoy. "At least here, we can support the marines from the air, and actually launch a successful SAR more than crossing our fingers and hoping." He gives a nod to Verity, "See you later, Flameout." Folding hands together, he exhales, and nods sympathetically to Nora. "Ugly is about the right of it. I wouldn't be surprised if they send us to Leonis sooner or later, if just to try and shut down some of the production they've set up there."
"Maybe you're just crazy," Astraea notes to Alain when he rejoins her in the chairs. There's a fleeting smile for him, but she also leans to press her shoulder to his. A supportive gesture, with the talk o Picon. "Leonis may be a numbers game like Picon is. We... jes' ain't th' squadron for that, y'know? It's just.. a matter of holdin' th' line there. This fight was hard, but it's what we're made for. Surgical insertions to cut through th' Cylons in specific places. Picon's... gonna be long an' hard an' needs large numbers who can just sit on it for a while. That's not what a specops unit is for."
"A small strike force won't take back Leonis, but that doesn't mean there's nothing of use to be done there," Nora disagrees, though she's careful to keep her tone mild. "Until the numbers exist for a full-scale offensive, there are targets better suited to small operations. Production facilities that could be taken from them, slave camps liberated, supply routes opened. If the resistance had half our resources...." She cuts off abruptly, having grown more animated as she spoke, hands raised in gesture, and instead smiles tightly, lips thin where they're pressed together. "But I'm sure that's true of a great many places. It cannot be easy for the admirals to choose."
The Gemenese pilot gives a nod towards the raptor pilot in agreement, Alain looking thoughtful as the others put in their opinions. "Sometimes, where we'd like to be and where we end up are two separate things. Still, I could see an argument for us being in Leonis to make a push to take back a strategic resource, or an important one -- like with Delphi. It'd put us in a difficult position though -- they'd be able to reinforce far more easily than we would." He nods at Nora, adding, "I imagine the hardest part is stepping back and trying to look purely where we can make the most strategic impact. Honestly, after Picon, it must be hard to consider leaving, as difficult as it was for us there."
"Th' problem on Picon was they had so many numbers... even if we did go in to claim somethin'-" Astraea's machine finally goes off and she pushes to her feet slowly. "They could send a whole wing of Raiders in without warnin'. Sometimes an' even bigger ship. They could overwhelm us an'..." Her shoulders slump with some of the memories. "All it took was one of 'em sendin' word or gettin' away. Jes' one. I mean, we're good, but we can't take an' entire wing of 'em out faster than they can send a missive, y'know? They're machines. We gotta hit a button or type a message. It's as fast as thought for 'em sometimes. That's th' issue on a place like Picon. Sure we can be sent to specific sites, but they've got swarms waitin' in th' wings to overwhelm us. An' we can't just... call to a factory for more pilots." With another defeated sigh, she falls quiet, pulling clothes from the wash to load into a dryer.
"I understand the issue," Nora says, keeping a tight rein on her own tension. "I spent the better part of two years discussing over and over all the reasons we should not count on any help to ever come." She slides off the washer, checking the progress of the cycle and leaning both on hands, palms flat on the lid. "But if specops can't, and the general forces can't, and the local forces can't.... We can't just abandon these places to them. Every day they hold those factories our efforts anywhere else grow more temporary." Her washer beeps, and she flashes a flat, rueful smile. "But Lords know there are more places need going than we can go, and I'd not suggest otherwise. I'd be curious to hear why we're spending ourselves on museums and empty universities, is all."
There's a distinct sort of grimace from Alain when Astraea talks about a factory for pilots, watching the raptor pilot for a moment after she stands. "This got way too heavy for laundry talk," he finally says, with a rueful smile, if faint, as his gaze skips to Nora. "It's not like the powers that be are given to explaining their reasoning -- I guess because if they do, it increases the chances the cylons will find out how they decide where we end up, just as likely. I for one would prefer they don't know when we're going to show up until we're busily ramming KEW down their throats. Still, Delphi... Delphi means a lot to a lot of people."
"Prob'ly 'cause if we ain't got nothin' to fight for, why fight at all. An' Delphi's got th' temple an' museum. It's... our past an' our art an' one of our moral compasses. All th' things people fight for outside of family. Prob'ly th' entire reason th' Cylons were tryin' to take it. If we didn't give a shit about morale, than why even take leave, yeh? Why not just fight forever?" Astraea puts the final few pieces of clothing into the dryer, slamming the door closed with a bit more force than necessary.
Nora cuts a look toward Astraea, brows pulling together in a frown. It's plain that she disagrees, judging by that look at the bulge of her jaw as teeth clench, but she chooses to let the subject go, ignoring the slammed door and instead focusing on Alain and on pulling wet clothes from the washer into the dryer. "True enough, best they've no idea where to expect us. I'd not expect the admirals to share their minds with the likes of us in any case."
All too aware of the sudden tension in the room, Alain's demeanor is easy and calm, as if by deliberate contrast. "Couple of campaigns ago, I tried to press the Colonel on where we were heading -- we were only a day out of deployment and he still kept close-mouthed. Could've been worse -- he could've put me on some terrible duty like Whisper did to Hurricane." He chuckles, if briefly. "True enough to say we always seem to end up where the fighting is hottest, at least one time or another," with a brief press of lips.
Hands turned to fists at her side, Astraea has gone silent. Some know of the time she yelled at Hawk post-mission, when he called them back to the barn early. Called them off the tails of some raiders, even though no one was damaged much at all. She has a temper, it's known, but at the moment the Raptor pilot is trying to contain it. Sadly, she has clothes in the dryer. For the moment, she doesn't return to her chair; likely not trusting herself to continue holding her tongue. Still, the tension is obvious and she just stares at her dryer while she works towards calm.
The perils of laundry conversation: wet clothes don't care if it's taken an awkward turn for the worst. Nora's doing her best not to haul hers out of the washer and throw them into the dryer with any noticeably disproportionate force, but the alternative feels agonizingly slow. She continues attempting to ignore Astraea, even if her eyes follow those clenched fists. "No doubt," she agrees with Jigger once again. "What duty did the CAG assign Hurricane?"
Alain glances towards Astraea; undoubtedly he can read her posture well enough -- enough so that he keeps the conversation going easily without explicitly trying to draw her back into it. "Oh, the dreaded office and inventory with no flight rotations. Made all the worse because the Dauntless is way bigger than the Vanguard -- but I guess that's what happens when you try to grab the CAG's ass." The Gemenese pilot has a lot of respect for their current CAG, obvious in his voice.
After a time, Astraea's hands finally relax. The tension bleeds -- a little -- from her shoulders. She doesn't move away from her post, but she finally releases some of the frustration that build up. Her short frame shifts forward as she leans, forehead coming to rest on the machine in front of her. She listens to the other two pilots, letting out a long sigh. It's easier to just listen as the topic shifts to other things. Lighter things.
Nora's brows jump, and she nearly laughs in sheer surprise at Alain's answer, but it just comes out as a huff of breath and a shake of her head. The tension is still there, but she's doing a credible job pretending that it isn't. "He should count himself lucky, in that case. Whisper seems like a formidable woman. I've seen men transferred for less."
Although the dryer containing Alain's clothes beeps, he remains seated in the chair, pretending obliviousness for the sake of continuing the conversation. "Formidable is definitely one way to describe her," Jigger agrees with a laugh. "But she's good at rolling with the punches. I've never seen her angry, even with the stupid shit some of us pilots pull out there," he gestures vaguely upwards, even if space is all around them. Up, is still up, for a planet-born person. "But she notices, and she pulls them aside later. I think she's the best CAG we've had to date." And they've had a few so far.
"Whispers th' only CAG I've known," Astraea says after a short time. She lets out a shaking breath with it, finally straightening from her lean. "With th' Wolves, that is," she amends. The jig swallows, looking to the dryer with Jigger's things in it. There's a look back to the Gemenese man. She tilts her head towards the machine. "Y'want me to grab 'em?"
Nora remains leaned against her dryer after she's shut the door and crosses her arms beneath her chest, listening to Alain's description. "Good qualities," she agrees, "That's good to hear." She glances at Astraea as the raptor pilot rejoins the conversation, but doesn't address her directly just yet, letting her ease back in. "How many CAGs have you had? Were you with the Phoenix taskforce as well?"
Alain feigns surprise, though there's a hint of a smile as he shakes his head and pushes to his feet after Astraea's question. "I got it, thanks," he flashes Nova another smile as he passes her towards the dryer, opening it. Every item is shaken out and carefully folded before being placed in his basket, just as neat as the clothing he wears. "Hm. Three, now -- but I've been on board since the Taskforce formed," he confirms. "I miss Galactica's mess most of all, I think," he says, with a grin. "Though having the canteen here is a step up from the Vanguard."
"I joined right b'fore Picon- well, durin' a brief time we helped on Canceron, but 'bout th'same. I served on th' Vanguard, with Whisper." She didn't have to deal with Webb and never got to know Kallas. "Missed out on th' Galactica. Which is a shame. It sounds nice." Astraea's words are quiet, but she does return Alain's smile. Just smaller. Her dryer sill has a bit left, but she continues to stand there, watching it as it goes.
"I would have liked to've seen it," says Nora, "Galactica. I've only seen photos of these new battlestars. But the canteen here is quite nice." She glances up at the clock, down at the dryer still rumbling away. There's a fair few minutes left, more than she'd hoped to spend on a simple chore like this one. "I'm going to make a run that way now, in fact," she says, straightening up, "Can I bring you anything? Either of you?"
The fact that Alain keeps quiet on the topic of their former CAGs while singing the praises of Stirling might well say something. "Who knows, maybe we'll get assigned to the Columbia, next. I bet she's even finer than the Galactica, everything all shiny and new," Jigger says, perhaps with a little wistfulness. He does like it when everything's neat, as evidenced by his carefully folded laundry. When done, he closes the drier and picks up his basket. He shakes his head to Nora's offer. "I'm good. Going to get these tucked away before CAP. See you later," he throws out casually, nodding to both pilots as he heads out, apparently comfortable with leaving the pair of them alone now.
"I'm good," Astraea says to Nora with a small shake of her head. When Alain speaks of getting transferred to the Columbia, she frowns. "You get assigned elsewhere, it'd better be with th' rest of us-" Or at least her, the tone says, "or I'll kick your ass, Jigger. You ain' 'llowed to leave." Her dryer finally buzzes to signal that it's done and she moves over to start grabbing laundry out. Most of it is standard issue, but she has a few more frilly underthings. When the Gemenese pilot notes that he's leaving, she purses her lips slightly. "Stop by my bunk after CAP, mebbe, if I'm 'round?"
"May be," Nora smiles faintly at Alain's pining for shiny new ships, and then casts a keener glance between the pair of pilots as the conversation takes a turn for the personal. She's making that canteen run regardless, lest watched clothes never dry, or whatever. "Evening, both of you," she says, piling her supplies tidily atop her dryer and giving a little two-fingered wave before slipping out.
"Don't think it works like that, Nova," Alain says, with a wry laugh in response to her threat. "But I'll inform whichever superior decides of your rider, should it come to that." He gives her a nod at her latter request, and with a brief wiggle of fingers, is gone.