2237-09-26 - Dog Is Not On The Menu

It's never a good idea to consider the future before going into a warzone.

Date: 2237-09-26

Location: Dauntless - Mess Hall

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 1421

Jump to End

Kyle Costello is in a mood today. She's not on edge, but there's a sharpness to her wit and her quick glances up and down the corridor. She walks a little more quickly than normal, and takes her turns a little more jaggedly. Two stairs at a tip upwards, and when she goes down the stairs, there's a hop to her step, as if the little jaunt of pain that comes from slapping her booted heels down is all for the better.

It's in this very state that she moseys through the hatch into the mess hall with Erin Hayes. Out of her gym clothes and into off-duty tanks and khaki pants, she's reaching behind her head to undo her ponytail and let her hair fall down over her cheeks while she walks, mid-conversation, with the famous Trash Panda of the Timberwolves.

"...was thinking of opening up the movie collection and you, me, Cate, maybe Donny..." Kyle hooks a brow Erin's way, ever-suggestive. "...could burn off some of this tension by putting our feet up. Soon we're going to be down in the sand and I want to keep my head out of that space as much as possible, so what could be better for that than a few horror movies and a closed-invite couch to just, you know, frakkin' kick it?"

Welp. Thirty minutes and one frantic rub-out later, and Erin finds her way to the Mess Hall. TO EAT. To skip ahead a little, one should presume that the intrepid destroyer of worlds gets herself a tray full of produce and fruit -- but mostly fruit. And a glass of water. Meat and grains? Newp. Just fruit and produce. Vegetarian, apparently.

And apples. About five of them.

WErin starts into the first of the apples. "That sounds like a plan. Yeah. You know what? Why don't we do that, I like that idea." She rolls the apple around in her hands -- both hands -- and bites into another part of it. "You need anything from me to get that done? Snacks, booze, whatever? We should invite Ghosty too, if she's down. Maybe Churchy."

"The idea of putting Lyn's boyfriend in the room with a horror movie is intriguing as frak." Kyle slops a plate of some kind of pasta, cottage cheese, and fruit of her own onto her plate, next to her own bottle of water. Vegitarian? Not if the two out of place strips of breaded chicken in the pasta have anything to say about it. "That and I haven't spent much time with the guy. Is he preachy?"

Kyle looks to Erin in question as she toe-hooks a chair out of place and lowers herself down into it. The tableware clatters on the plastic tray, and once she's down into the seat next to Erin, Kyle goes about fixing everything back into place and making sure one spot of goop from the cottage cheese didn't goop into her pasta.

"I've got the movie chips, but you're my hookup on snacks unless I get them from the store on ship. Which-" Kyle see-saws her head and rests a boot against Erin's beneath the table. "-probably won't include a good drink, which would have to be on the down-low so hard." Kyle takes up her fork.

"Is Ghost's boyfriend a hardliner? Has he veered our beloved Ghostie closer to the regs?"

"I don't know about that." Erin munches through her apple at a furious, hurried pace. "I mean, hardliner? Probably not. He's Gemenese."

Erin and Kyle are at a table, clearly conspiring to set fire to the ship as a whole. That is a possibility, but it's more likely that the two Marines are talking about nothing good. You know how Marines are. Plus, Erin's reputation as a shit-disturber and a malcontent is well-documented in the annals of Timber Wolves history. At least, in her mind.

"As for the alcohol -- " The Trash Panda makes a face, and then snickers. " -- I found this malt liquor on Caprica, a huge bottle. Managed to get it aboard, but I'm pretty sure that stuff could give varnish a run for its money. Might want to go light on it."

"Frak, I've got so much catching up to do." Kyle suddenly laments, planting an elbow down and burying her face in one hand. She weak-wrists her fork-hand, swaying the tines from left to right like she's conducting a symphony. "I thought I'd be able to see more people and get caught up before we go back down, but at this rate I think most of the old crew I'm going to really end up having to wait to share some bug-ridden camping house with before we get to catch up. Even then." Kyle rolls her eyes and goes back to her meal.

The fork stabs down into the pasta with laserbeam precision, then twists, rolling the carb-feast around the utensil.

"Can I share something with you?" Kyle looks to Erin at her side, but doesn't wait for her to give permission. "I've had to actually think, since I first met you, what I'd do if you got caught with some of this stuff and I was around. I have just now decided that if that ever happens I'm going to do what I can to cover for you." Kyle smiles darkly. "Because if you ever change I'll strangle you."

"Aww." Erin's eyebrows rise. "You'd try to cover for me if I did something against the regulations?" She tsks. "That's so sweet of you. But, you do understand that, since I've met you, I've steadily become worse when it comes to skirting around rules." Beat. "I'll admit, it's kind of fun. A rush, you know? As long as you don't do something that hurts people, and you keep it low, the brass doesn't really seem to give a frak." Shrug. "I mean, they know that I'm harmless, and I'm just making people happier."

"But, truth be told, that frakkin' commissary's really cutting into my profits." Snort. "I mean, how'm I suppose to run an honest business running contraband I've taken from our own stores when there's a constabulary selling the same stuff, but without fear of reprisal, right?" Tragic sigh. "Totally uncalled for."

Erin eventually gnashes through her first apple, and calmly tosses the corpse onto Kyle's tray. She moves on to the next.

"You know what I've decided?" Munch, munch, munch. "I've decided to accept the fact that, while you seem to push me into risky behavior by your wit, I think that's a good thing. And I think that I'm actually getting the hang of being, y'know, accepted." Shrug. "I feel, like, less and less of the need to really try to be what I think other people want me to be, y'know? And when this is all over and done with, maybe I'll be a scientist, maybe I won't." Beat. "Maybe I'll be a rock star."

"Those boxes of stuff from my family probably didn't go over well with you, then." Kyle deadpans, dropping a karate chop down on the tray to keep the apple's core from rolling into her food. The apple bounces off of her hand, which Kyle leans to lick at her knuckles to clean it. "Not that I don't think half of that stuff you trade around, do you? Condoms and beef strips?" Kyle waves a strip of chicken towards Erin, then shoves it into her mouth.

Quieting, Kyle chews and leans on her elbow, watching Erin while she speaks. Her lips move around in a circle, mashing the chicken to molten mush behind her closed lips, so her two watchful eyes remain in silent judgment. In the end, Kyle nods, and tightens her throat to swallow her food.

"Good." Kyle dips her face in approval. "You should just be whoever you are, and there will be people who'll accept it, and to Hades with the people who don't. Those of us who love you, Erin, we do so not because you're our personal entertainment monkey."

Kyle taps the side of her boot against Erin's twice.

"When this is over, whatever you become, you'd better keep in touch with me, rockstar or not." Kyle turns her eyes back to her tray with a dimpled cheek. "Getting this war over with so you can be free will be reward enough."

Erin grins at Kyle. "Um. Aren't we supposed to get out of this war together?" Began ever tragic story ever. "Don't think there'll be much of a chance that we won't keep in touch." She rubs part of her second apple against the collar of her tank top. "Pretty sure that either I'm coming home with you or I'm not coming home."

Chomp. Chomp. Chomp. Erin thoughtfully goes through the fruit, eyeing it from between her two hands.

"And about your family's shipment? Nah. Don't got no use for beef jerky or condoms. And some free t-shirts?" Nod. "Could always use that, myself. Took a few. Eventually, they'll be aged and vintage, and then, people'll want them again. Maybe a few years from now." Gotta keep hustling.

"You planning on going back to Caprica when this is all over? Find yourself a nice, strapping young man to give you babies?" There's a note of sarcastic dryness to her voice, the thought being mildly distasteful to her, it seems.

"I didn't wanna presume." For all of the ways Kyle is confident, there are places she toes the line on. She gives Erin an incredulous, owl-eyed look. "But don't talk like that, it's completely on my list of plans that when all of this is done, you're coming back to Caprica and we're going to sit poolside at my folks place figuring out..." Kyle rolls her eyes. "Weirdly normal stuff, like apartments, jobs, whatever. Caprica will be the place to be for that. Besides-"

Kyle sets her fork down and hooks her hair over one ear on Erin's side, making the Panda all the easier to see. Hazel eyes shift left and right, and then Kyle reaches out to quickly graze fingertips over Erin's forearm.

"-at least you know my folks know how to take care of soldiers who need a little R-and-R. It'll be a safe place we can hole up and decelerate."

Kyle leans back in her chair, slouching and planting one boot on the chair across from her. The other, remains solely planted against Erin's underneath the table; a hard to spot manner of affection.

"That should answer half of your questions. Caprica yes. Man? Not if you're coming with me. Babies?" Kyle's eyes spin in their sockets, the question seemingly pelting her features with invisible BB-gun pellets. The assault is exhausting. "Not that you or I would ever traditionally need a man or some kind of group marriage for that, but frak, I don't know. Maybe?" Kyle takes up her fork again. "A dog for sure."

"Dog?" Erin blinks at Kyle, and shrinks visibly at the thought. "What kind of dog?" she asks with a note of temerity. "I don't like dogs." Most raccoons don't, actually. "They're noisy and smelly, and, like I can't be bothered with a creature that can't take care of its own needs to poop." Snort.

"I mean, think about it." She lifts an eyebrow. "They're supposed to be our best friends, but when's the last time your best friend needed you to take them out to take a shit in your yard. And then -- then they sort of prance around happily that they performed a basic frakkin' function of life, and then eat it." Shiver. "And then, they want to lick your face! Like, saying, 'o hai guess wut now you smell like shit too hurr hurr hurr!." Erin's face steadily grows darker. "And, like, they don't leave your shit alone. I've heard stories of them wrecking clothes and shoes. Frak no."

Headshake. "No, no."

Another headshake. "And kids, like -- if you want kids, you're going to have to have them for us because I'm missing parts. Essential parts." Erin drives her teeth into her fruit, and crunches down on a large piece of apple fitfully. "Dogs. Hrmph."

Trouble in paradise already.

"Are you saying that if I had some kind of war accident that you wouldn't help me out to the front lawn to do my business?" Kyle nearly laughs out loud. It's so strong that she has to bar her forearm over her mouth while she chews to keep from 'shotgunning' Erin in the face with cottage cheese. "MMMsorreh, Sorrugh." Kyle's boot thumps on the chair across from her and she buckles over, headbutting Erin in the shoulder.

Cough. Hack. Wheeze. Cough.

Red-faced, Kyle finally dislodges the slimy kernel of cottage cheese that went down the wrong pipe and lifts her head. She sucks in a deep, cleansing breath and turns back to her food, lowering her voice once the prying eyes stop staring at the sudden outburst.

"If we find ourselves on a porch on Caprica someday with zero frakking war to head back to, and you want a kid?" Kyle ticks her head and pries another strip of chicken off of her plate. "Then I'm getting a dog. That's way fair. I can't think of a trade more fair than that. It would just have to be a really great dog that we can teach to fetch us beers and bark when those Gemenese assholes come knocking on the door asking for temple donations."

Kyle slows into a silence, pondering eyes resting on the other side of the table while she chews. Her eyes glaze over, picturing the future.

"I'll forgive you for not liking dogs someday." A beat. "Eventually, Erin. Eventually."

Snort. "Please." Erin rolls her eyes. "I don't really want a kid. What would I do with it?" Shrug. "I mean, I don't think I'd be a good mother, first off. Or father. My parents -- " Another shrug. " -- they weren't exactly the loving sort. I mean, they didn't hit me or anything, but they just -- I don't know -- they just were wrapped up in their worlds, more often than not. Rarely ever had many words for me, that I can remember."

She bites into her apple again. And chews.

"And if you want a dog, like -- whatever, that's fine, just keep it away from my stuff and me." She makes a face. "The difference between you and a dog is that, at the end of the day, it's more legal to molest you and try to get you off." Snort. "Ech. My fault for making my own mental image."

She bites into her apple. Chews.

"Of course, if you do want a kid, you'll probably be, like, demanding and stuff. It'll be all, like, 'erin rub my feet' or 'erin rub my ass' or whatever, y'know? I just know it. I just know it."


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