2237-10-21 - When Opposite Bunkies Meet

Alain meets his new, and particularly contrasted, bunkmate Pieter, who keeps using an irritating word for them. Cate and Astraea come in to get caught up in the Pudge's socializing in turn.

Date: 2237-10-21

Location: Berthings

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 1502

Jump to End

Bunk A already had a pretty eclectic mix of people before, but with some recent shifting around of various duties and bunks to go with them, it wasn't clear just how that mix was going to land again once it settled. It seems at least someone in personell has a kind of twisted sense of humor though, for the A-3 bottom bunk seems to be in the process of being filled, and the contrast to the pristine regulation-perfect bunk above is more than a little distinct. Already the bottom bunk's bedsheets are a mess from someone climbing in and out over top of them without a care whilst setting about decorating the space. And decorating it this newcomer certainly has, with gaming flyers and posters of scantily clad women, half-strewn compact electronics and dog-eared tech books. Oh...and a rather rotund derrier in dress blues sticking out from the space while he's pasting one final barely-clad poster up in the back of the space. Really, special task force officers shouldn't probably strain their uniform pants quite so much as that, nor give that sort of sight to a fellow officer as first impression, but Pieter seems to be on a roll today for how he's meeting people. At least this time he's in the right place...at least theoretically. Here's hoping he didn't just take over someone's bunk on wrong area by accident!

There's a neat orderliness to the bunk above the one Pieter's chosen -- either someone who's inclined to follow the regulations to the T, or just someone who likes neatness. Alain strides in, carrying a laundry basket. The contents are neatly folded and carefully stacked -- everything in its place, the socks and underwear tucked on one side, folded uniforms on the other. He sets the basket on the table in the middle of the bunkroom and just... stares. His gaze flickers over the bunk below his, taking in the wall decorations with a fleeting grimace, before settling on the occupant, clearing his throat. Even in off-duty uniform, there's something crisp and neat about Alain's clothing.

In contrast, even in his dress blues, there's something a little unkempt about the chubby guy who's jumping a touch at the throat-clearing (though not so much as to hit his head thankfully). As he's pulling his bulk out of the bunk, he's revealed in all his big-bellied, bearded glory, uniform half-unbuttoned and strained a bit over the middle and thighs, his gray-threaded dark hair a bit of a muss. And yet, in Pieter's jewel bright eyes and utterly amicable, lopsided grin, there's a certain charm that at least helps mitigate the rough edges for some people. At least his new bunk mate isn't slovenly, overweight, and grumpy! "Oh! Heya. Pardon my big ass all in the way, eh? Where you heading, man?" Pie's trying to shift in the relatively narrow space to make some room, looking from the clean-cut figure to the various bunks around, settling on the pristine one above him and...apparently delighted by this fact. "Oh hey! That yours, bunkie?!" Oh gods, it is a good thing Alain's a praying man, eh?

The shift of the shorter man's gaze across his new bunkmate suggests Alain's taking it all in -- from the state of his off-duty uniform, his body, and finally his expression. The gesture of his hand indicates the bunk above Pieter's. And then, "Jigger," he offers, offering out his hand. "Newly transferred?" he guesses, with the confidence of someone who knows the other Wolves well. There might... no, definitely a grimace at the address of "bunkie". He's glancing past Pieter towards the bunk, and there's another grimace. His wingmate, should she ever return, is going to kill him. But, "Welcome," his ease seems genuine, even following the grimace. "Is that a Piconese accent?"

"Good ear, with more than a dash of Caprican expat mother!" The ebulliantly friendly Pieter offers back approvingly, moving his bulk to clear the other's bunk so he can drop his stuff. Offering out a meaty hand after with easy-going cheer, he goes on. "And yeah, I'm the fresh fish in the pond, so to speak. Pieter Raines, callsign Pudge..." Of course it is! He goes on whether the hand's taken or not. "...new ECO by way of Athena and Manticore." A pause as eyes the man again, and his prim and proper bunk, asking a bit hopefully. "Jigger cause you like to jigger with tech when you aren't in the sky?" Apparently assumption of pilot by some obscure criteria was a given, his interest instead in potential shared geekery.

"Picking accents is something I'm good at," and the confirmation of his guess, along with the acknowledgement of a smatter of Caprican, earns a thoughtful nod from Alain, who sets a hand on the top of his laundry -- not that it needs holding still. His other hand goes out to offer to the other man. "LT Alain Tomlinson, but Jigger to everyone." Another -- this time wry -- expression crosses his features. "Not... exactly. Long story. Viper pilot, actually. But, good to have a new ECO on board. We've been a bit light on the ground in recent weeks."

If Pieter seems crestfallen at the lack of techy brothership, he doesn't let it last long certainly. The handshake is vigorous without being overbearing and the boisterous ease of the words rolling off is given with a broad-shouldered shrug that turns to wry wink. "Always good to be useful! Least when the V-jocks aren't mowing the path fast enough to leave me nothing useful to do, eh?" The good-natured bitching turns to curiosity as the big man cants head a bit and asks. "What about you? Where you from? Accents clearly ain't my thing!" More like doughnuts. Doughnuts are almost assuredly his thing.

"Got to move fast to keep up with us. Which I'm sure you can manage -- you wouldn't be here otherwise," Alain says, with the kind of confidence of someone whose seen plenty of people come and go. "Uh. I'm from Gemenon, actually," he says, as he straightens, a kind of fixed-ness to his expression like he's anticipating the usual reaction of surprise or shock to the news he's from the religious colony that's been largely sitting out the war.

"Oh..." Pieter's gregariousness falters a moment as he takes that information in, both thick brows arched up a bit. After a moment though then he just snorts a little gravelly chuckle and quips out. "Cool then. Just bitchslap me if I bite off something offensive to the gods when fighting with a particularly hairy crypto or something then, yeah?" And that seems about the extent of Pieter's biases. Assumption that the man's religious and permission to uphold that if (when, let's be honest, it's when) the Piconese gunner does something offensive. Back to the jovial he goes, peering about the other bunks around them with curiosity. "So what other sorts we sharing the space with? Rest of our bunkies..." that word again. "...air wing sorts, or we got a mix and match going in keeping with this mixed taskforce?"

"I won't take offense. Everyone has their own way of dealing with the Gods, or not. Not all of us are judgy, preachy and sanctimonious." The brief hint of a smile suggests Alain's well aware of how his colony is viewed. Glancing around, briefly, he says, "Almost all air wing, actually. And one of the marine medics," he thumbs a gesture towards Cate's bunk, "Because she's best friends with one of the other ECO's here." Another gesture, this time to Isolde's. "They're married," his finger flickers from Isolde's at the top to Van's below. "So, you know. Get real interested in books or music or something."

"Fuuuun." Pieter quips to that last with wry roll of eyes skyward, muttering after. "Glad I keep my holoband working, even if the games kind of lose something without the full Net." The whole part about sanctimony he just kind of let roll past him with a rueful sort of shrug to serve as not-quite-apology. He may have had his assumptions, but equally didn't seem to judge for them if he'd been more like most of the Gemmies met previously. Instead, he was taking vague interest after his eye rolling at what the other man's bunk held in terms of distraction from married couples. The books stacke dthere get a head cant, then the other direction as if he were trying to decide if he were trying to read it upside down and that's why he couldn't recognize it. "What's with those? Just the titles like that, or the whole thing written in that..." a vague hand gesture to the books, as if not sure what to call them, apparently having not come across real example of the dead language before.

"You'll have plenty of company in that. Some find the relationship rules in the CF awkward after other militaries. Some... adjust to it pretty quickly," Alain observes with a brief smile, before his weight shifts, following Pieter's glance towards his books. There's no hesitation: he doesn't seem like a man inclined to hide anything. "It's Gemenese. Mostly used by scholars and priests. I... there was a time when I thought it was my purpose in life to be a priest. But I, as my mother said, always had too much of Ares in me." It's said with an even acceptance, matter-of-fact in a way that he's long accepted. "So I joined the military. Served with the marines and ICJPK in Sag. Decided to get my wings after that." The spread of his hands says, and here I am, as clearly as the words might.

"Yeah, Picon's were always a bit tightassed for my taste. Some held to them better than others." Pieter offers back to the talk of military relationship regs with a faint grimace of one who apparently never fit to them himself. Sexy beast like him, no wonder he'd hate Picon's restrictions. The talk of the language arches a brow again, but not half so much as the revelation following it. Again though, it seems more a surprise of curiosity than approbation and he's giving another of those big-shouldered shrugs after it and holding tongue for the rest. Only after, with another lopsided ease does he add back. "Huh, well, guess if I was to choose a priest for a bunkie, a war god priest ain't a bad one to have on my wing, eh?" After which he's pointing down to one of the old gaming tournament flyers on his wall with "Reaper Raines" featured on it. "I started off trying ot go pro gamer. Never was one for Piconese beach bod, yeah?" A snort at the understatement and onward he's going. "My pops was a commander with the navy though and gave me one of his patented 'Come to Kobol' talks eventually when it wasn't working out, got me into the Academy, found out I had a knack for signals and EE and enough virtual flight hours and handy reflexes to pick up flight school after. Did my tours with Picon, picked up my own seconding to ICJPK back in '31, with the Scorpia mess...err, well, one of them I guess. Picked up with the Picon Navy again after, came through the Fall,..." He breezes past that entirely too casually, even someone who wasn't perceptive would likely catch how he brushed past. "...took up with CF when they formed, been with Athena since maiden op, but apparently someone decided I could make a good pudgy Timber Wolf, cause here I am, yeah?"

There's a brief chuckle from Alain, that deepens into a genuine smile -- even with the use of bunkie -- at Pieter's words. "He's saved my ass a time or two," he says, "So yeah, not a bad God to have on your side in a war." After a beat, he carefully rolls up his sleeve, pushing the material up -- to bare his left shoulder, where a tattoo of Ares, carrying a spear and wearing his helmet, can be seen. "Gamer, huh? You'd get on well with Double-Tap, then. He's an ECO as well," he adds, with a wry smile. He listens with obvious interest to the other man's story, not even shifting his weight as he stands there. Undoubtedly he catches that casual brush past the fall -- but he's worked with enough people and their stories not to try and pry. Instead, he says, "I would've guessed you were down on Picon when the Wolves were there, and tried to join up. Good thing I didn't bet on it." There's a brief grimace -- Picon having been a difficult battle for the Wolves by all accounts.

"Nice." Pieter exclaims genuinely to the show of the Ares tat, going on to offer that lopsided mirth. "Most of my ink's from regretable alcohol-induced decisionmaking. You'll probably see eventually you poor bastard." Oh someone in personell really has a twisted sense of humor. Still, the unflaggable ex-gamer's brightening at mention of that one, nodding and asking. "Skinny Libran? Too pretty to be a proper gamer?" With confirmation or not, he'll go on with snort. "Yeah, Yoyo and I go way the hells back actually. Will be good to mend fences with him. Good to see a few others I know about too from Picon and beyond." Finally to that last talk, a bit more grimly at mention of his colony, he's shaking head and finishing with a more fierce sort of edge masked barely by the continued joviality. "Heh, nah, Got my blood up early in the start of all this and so took the fight off the homeworld soon as I could walk again from the first chewing up. Toasters had to pay, yeah?" For Hyperion he means. The way most Piconese probably get that air of fire in the eye about that. Pieter more so than most.

With a brief chuckle, Alain begins to roll his shirt sleeve down, just as carefully as he rolled it up, smoothing out the wrinkles as he goes. "There's been talk for a while of a squadron tattoo -- one for the Wolves. Ringer and Nova have been working on it for a while, if you're interested in any sober-additions to your collection." Giving a nod of confirmation to the other man's description, he chuckles. "Should've figured you know each other. Small world. Worlds." His neatly folded clothing is still sitting in his basket on the table, standing easily beside it. "Yeah," comes the viper pilot's agreement, with barely a hesitation. "Got plenty enough in the Wolves who walked that same path."

Bunk A already had a pretty eclectic mix of people before, but with some recent shifting around of various duties and bunks to go with them, it wasn't clear just how that mix was going to land again once it settled. It seems at least someone in personell has a kind of twisted sense of humor though, for the A-3 bottom bunk seems to be in the process of being filled, and the contrast to the pristine regulation-perfect bunk above is more than a little distinct. Already the bottom bunk's bedsheets are a mess from someone climbing in and out over top of them without a care whilst setting about decorating the space. And decorating it this newcomer certainly has, with gaming flyers and posters of scantily clad women, half-strewn compact electronics and dog-eared tech books. The owners of those two bunks are at the moment having an amicable-enough chat, despite the clear contrast in them as much as their bunks, with the more familiar Jigger in his off-duty gear yet somehow seem more put together and proper than the chubby big man straining his half-unbuttoned duty blues. The bearded, boisterous Pieter with his mussed gray-touched hair would be a fairly familiar face in turn to some from this bunk, albeit with a few more pounds and few more prematurely graying hairs.

For his part, the ECO's grinning big to Alain's talk of tattoos and other matters, even if he sobers a fraction at the last part. "Yeah, no doubt more than a few. Anyways, we'll see how well I fit in with this wing, but assuming I make the cut, hells yeah to squad tat. I met Nova earlier in a wrong turn to the gym. She and the chaplain went at it in the ring and she got her bell rung. Heh, never underestimate a holy man, am I right?"

Cate comes into their little bunk pod. The medic hasn't been seen much in her bunk the past couple weeks - a week missing, a weekend pass, then a stint in sickbay, then a couple of days of convalescence where she was more likely to nap in the common room or rec room watching TV than to actually sleep like a sensible person. But here she is now, wearing CF-issue sweatpants and a zip-up sweatshirt hoodie. Walking stiffly as still-healing ribs protest the movement. She looks tired, somber even. When her eyes light on the newcomer chatting with Alain, she stops short and stares. "Pie?" she calls, dumbfounded.

Alain's brief nod both acknowledges the sentiment, and lets it pass without further comment. Old wounds. "Getting in is half the job. Keeping a sharp eye out for contacts and keeping those missiles off the rest of us is the other -- sounds to me like you're good on that score. Don't worry, either; plenty of solid raptor pilots for you to pair with. Whisper's one -- our CAG -- log of good things to learn from her." Though his tone is easy, there's a clear level of respect at the mention of their boss. His brows rise in mute surprise at Pieter's latter words, whether due to the chaplain's fisticuffs, or Nova's, isn't clear. "Can't argue with that conclusion," he's saying, as Cate's call makes him look that way, curiously, then back to Pieter.

"Oh, you could say I hold my own on that count, yeah." There's a sly sort of confidence to that, of a man playing it down a bit modestly, but eager to show his stuff when he can. "Look forward to seeing what the wing can d..." he started to say, but then that nickname ringed out in a familiar voice and the big uniform-straining ECO was turning, jewel-bright eyes widening and a boisterously-pleased exclamation escaping him in that gravelly baritone. "Cat! Was wonderin' when I'd run into you!" Oh gods, he's coming at her like he's going to sweep her up in a big damned hug, oblivious to ribs. Someone save the doctor!

Fresh off of CAP, Astraea shuffles into the bunk hall. She pulls off her gloves, first, and is following suit with unzipping her flight suit proper when she spots Pieter about to bowl Cate over. The Raptor pilot is quick to move aside in case anything (or -one) comes flying her way. Up, across her cheek is the purpling hues of a bruise. It extends from the base of her jaw up, towards her ear. A clear marker of just where Aldrich managed to hit her in their earlier sparring match. Her hair is still in braids, but the time in a helmet has caused wisps to come free here, there, in a frizzy sort of halo.

Cate actually smiles - a rare sight on her lips these days. "Hey. I didn't know you transferred in." She looks past him to Alain to offer the other pilot a little nod, not wanting to be rude. "Jigger." She doesn't try to escape from the incoming hug, though she does let out an urgent plea, "Gently!" One elbow tucking in to guard the left side of her torso. Hopefully that doesn't end too badly. She hasn't noticed Astraea yet.

Alain doesn't interrupt the obvious reunion, but he does -- since Pieter's moved away from the bunk -- finally step forward with his basket and begin to carefully, neatly pack his clothing away, his bunk a sharp contrast to his new bunkmate's. "Good to see you back, Rhodes." He says, after Cate greets him, casting her a brief smile.

The biggun's bear hug gets thankfully aborted at the last moment awkwardly, turned into just a kind of looping back tap morphing immediately into a gentle shoulder-holding backing up to examine with a wincing apology set on his apple-round face. "Oh gods. I hurt ya? What is it? Ribs?" Apparently he recognizes that particular style of guarding behaviour. "Just got the orders yesterday after a rough CAP, already got me shifted over and inducted. Was meaning to send out word to you, V, and Char, but..." A big shrug, and he's shifting further back from her to glance over to Alain's 'back' comment, a thick eyebrow going up questioningly between them. This brings his bright eyes in line with the arriving Astraea and he's wincing a bit at her cheek and adding her way. "Heya Nova. Was just telling Jigger about your fun with the Chaplain actually." It's a bit distracted in saying, his eyes going quickly back to Cate for her reply, but he couldn't resist the light air of ribbing for the Raptor pilot.

When Pieter addresses her, Astraea looks up from peeling away her flight suit. Her eyes go past the ECO to Jigger, quickly, then back. "Yeah. I, uh, musta let my guard down. Ain't much for boxin' anyway. Prefer longer-range weapons between me an' a target." There's a sort of awkward smile from the Raptor pilot as she heads for her own bunk. A lower one and spartan, itself. Not as neatly made as the one above it or Alain's, but largely just... lacking in personal items. She pops open her locker, tossing in the gloves before bending to start unlacing her boots.

Once it becomes clear that she's not going to get squished and tear out any stitches, Cate relaxes and claps Pieter on the back in return. "It's okay. Got shot, cracked a rib. I'll be all right," she says, downplaying the whole thing. "I'm glad to see you." Jigger's comment gets an awkward half-smile. "Thanks." When Pieter greets Nova, Cate glances back at the other woman, still a bit awkward as she nods. "Hey Nova."

It doesn't take long for Alain to finish packing away his clothing -- not when everything's already pre-folded and has its place. "I'll leave you to it. Buy you a drink later, in welcome?" that offer thrown towards Pieter, his glance towards Cate perhaps suggesting he's all too aware of the awkward in the air. That done, he moves around the far side of the table -- taking note of Astraea's presence with a smile. "Hey, Nova," he greets easily, "You can tell me all about it later," and then he's heading out, smoothing down his shirt as he goes.

"So say we all." Pieter side-quips a little irreverantly to Nova's 'long range weapons' comment, as if she were preaching religion. After his attentions back on Cate with concern, furrowing brows and pursing of beard-framed lips, but he doesn't have any right to mother hen as much as he'd come back a bit banged up in the past, so he just snorts, shakes his head at her and offers up. "Well, good thing you're mobile. Heard some mention that I've got to go down to recovery to say hi to Char. Wasn't the same mess, was it?" With that question asked, he's catching Alain's parting comment, waving his way and jovially calling after. "Never turned down a free drink yet. Catcha around, bunkie!" Did the poor viper pilot twitch at that term before slipping out? It's possible. And after he's gone, Pieter's left looking over to Astraea at her bunk, snorting once again to add. "Shouldn't be giving you shit. You'll know where I sleep it seems." Followed by an even greater revelation as he turns wide sapphire eyes back on Cate. "Wait, Jig said a marine medic when he was mentioning the other bunkies. You in here too, Cat?"

"Rhodes," Astraea offers in return to the medic, without turning. She strips out of her flight-suit, left in dual-tanks and skivvies. The suit is hung up and her shower kit grabbed from within the locker, along wth a fresh set of clothes. As Alain prepares to depart, she looks his way quickly and bears an expression that indicates she almost -- almost -- wants to follow. Instead, she just nods after him. "Later," she echoes after the Gemenese pilot. She looks over her things and ultimately just sits down heavily on her bunk. "Pretty sure I could find ya anyway. Wolves are all in these halls," off the hub-like lounge. "Ain't far ya can go onna ship." She's trying to banter in return, but it's clear her heart isn't in it.

Cate leans against one of the banks of lockers. "Charlie? No, different one. No shortage of those around here," she says with a snort. "Sure she'll be glad to see you though." She nods to his question. "Yeah, this is mine here." She pats the upper bunk she's standing near. It's pretty barren, save for a child's crayon drawing. Then she glances back to Nova. "Al gave you that shiner? Clearly he's been hanging out with the marines too much." Her own banter is equally strained, but she's trying at least.

"Heh, true enough I suppose. Fine then, free to give you shit at my own peril I suppose!" Pieter offers back to Astraea's talk of nowhere to hide on the ship. Clearly the big man wasn't paying enough attention to how well she fought compared to how well he could or he'd be a little less delightfully upbeat about that 'peril' bit. He seems like the sort to like BSing though, so it probably doesn't mean anything. Hells, it could just be his reaction to the grim faces about, trying to bring at least a smirk to some of them. Cate's confirmation there's no shortage of rough ops makes his big grin wilt fractionally towards something more serious, but he fights it back with effort and just declares jokingly. "Well, clearly you all just needed more fire support. Good thing I'm here now." As if one more raptor gunner and ECM console jockey makes that big a difference on the ground with bullets flying. Still, it's requirement to play at being the cocky air winger or something. The question Nova's way brings a grin for the Scorpian as he admits. "She was holding her own great actually. Thought she had him, but he got in a nasty shot there at the end. Was glad I didn't take him up on the offer to join him in the ring. Would have laid my tubby ass out in half the time!"

In a moment of personal quiet, Astraea had reached to the shelf in her bunk to grab her sketchbook. She leans back, marginally, as she flips it open. The pages that flutter by have tattoo flash upon them, or quick sketches of people going about their business. Some hold landscapes or buildings sketched roughly; likely from memory of glimpses caught during flybys. The last few, however, are darker. A cage. The crumbling archway of a cave tunnel. A partially dismantled Centurion, 'slumped,' with cables coming out of its head. She goes by those quickly before rushing back to a page with Scorpian-inspired tattoo designs. She looks up to Pieter as he speaks of the sparring match again, then to Cate; only just fully registering her question. "Yeah. He, uh, got me pretty good, I guess. But, he owes me drinks next we get leave, so it ain't a total loss- I guess." She's less inclined, it would seem, than the new ECO to speak of what a dirty shot it actually was on the Chaplain's part.

"Seems like it's a free drinks kind of night," Cate observes lightly. She doesn't react to the idea of Al's dirty shot, hearing 'nasty' more in terms of its shiner-inducing qualities than its unsportsmanlike ones. Pieter's confidence gets a grim smirk. "Good thing," she plays along. Then she reaches out to give his arm a little clap. "I'm gonna lie down for a bit. It's good to see you. Fly safe." At some prior point, she'd moved her blanket and pillow from the top bonk down to the unclaimed one beneath it, and that's the one she now crawls into - very gingerly, and with some bitten-back winces.

"There's that true. Nothing bad comes from free alcohol." Said no one ever who had seen some of Pieter's misadventurous drunken tattoos. After, his sharp eyes caught a glance at some of the artwork with nosy curiosity while he moved to plop down on the edge of his already fairly disarrayed bunk, reaching out to pat Cate gently on the shoulder as she goes for the lower too. "Get some rest, eh? Need you whole to go out drinking and catch up, yeah?" With that mischevious promise of still more liquor (he may have a drinking problem at this point), he's going on towards Astraea more quietly to leave Cate peace enough to try and rest. "Jig mentioned you and someone callsigned Ringer were workin' up a squadron flash." It's almost as if he's determined to draw the raptor pilot out of her shell if he can, tones relaxed and chatty, but genuinely curious it seems.

"Someone enterprisin' could put t'gether a record of everythin' that's owed on leave. Imagine th' cubits you could earn from settlin' th' arguments." Since a lot of the Triad players also engage in IOUs other than hard cash. Astraea has grabbed a pencil and is loosely sketching out a Scorpian design when Pieter approaches. She looks up at the ECO, then down at the sketchbook. She flips a few pages back to reveal various wolf-like sketches, but each one in a style indicative of the colony. One is Scorpian, one is Tauran, another looks like the wolves one might find in Virgan heraldry. "Yeh. We're tryin' to design one that's got all th' colonies sorta... worked into it. When it's done, we'll tattoo people an' find someone to make patches for th' folks that don't want ink." She talks quietly as she goes. For the new arrival, she likely just seems shy and reserved. For everyone that's known her? She's a broken thing; previously much more full of life and vigor.

"Huh. Nice!" He says, leaning in more when she shows the work, genuine in his enthusiasm for the idea. After a moment, curiosity gives way after a glance down at her Scorpian clan tattoos and a little upnod of his bearded chin towards her markings while he asks quietly. "Ringer from Scorpia too, or just a fan of ink or art?"

More of those tattoos are visible, seeing as how she's in tanks and skivvies. Black, edged lines upon her dusky skin. There's no color to hers, no, but like any clan member... they tell a tale. "Ringer's Tauran. Tattoo artist, like me. They've got their own... y'know, system. Least th' mafia does." It's not as deeply ingrained in their culture as it is for Scorpians. She sets the sketchbook aside finally. There are, in her bunk, a couple Gemenese books as well. Not nearly the collection that Alain has, but she's got a couple. "I gotta get to th' showers b'fore I starve." Because bathing, then food. That's the routine. She pushes upright, grabbing her shower kit. "See ya 'round."

"No worries. Be seeing you Nova." Pieter offers as he backs off towards his bunk again, eying the woman as she leaves with an air more thoughtful than appreciative. Why is it her tats style seem to tickle the back of his memory? He'll have to mull it over and maybe ask her more later. For now though, gotta make sure his battered holoband made the trip without needing more repair.


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