2237-10-24 - "Interesting" Squadmates

A freshly arrived Silvas gets a whirlwind introduction to some "interesting" squadmates, ranging from clearly semi-insane Pieter, to family-fond Irene, on to a somewhat withdrawn Astraea. At least things don't seem to be boring on this particular ship.

Date: 2237-10-24

Location: Berthings

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 1510

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New transfers. It's the sort of thing that happens a lot in war time on a ship like this. Well, maybe not exactly like this. But there's always a bit of coming and going, and right now there's a new arrival in bunkroom A. Leiutenant Silvas, dressed in a Colonial Forces uniform so pristine it must be freshly issued, groomed to make an impression on whatever senior officers he probably just had to go through after arrival. One hand is gripping a sheaf of papers, the other hand gripping the standard issue rucksack that he has tossed over his shoulder. He makes a few pleasantries to those he passes as he walks, not bothering to stop them, nor they he. That sort of thing can always come later.

Stepping past the door, he gives once glance around the room, arches his brow as his eyes scan across the various bunks, and finally settle on an empty one on the bottom tucked away in a corner. "Good as any." It's a mild mutter under his breath, not that he seems particularly annoyed with the accomidations. More like he's simply resigned to them for the moment.

One pilot's bunk is spartan. Not out of any desire to be perfectly neat and tight-corners, but simply out of lack of personal items owned. There's a few books. A romance novel or two. And a few Gemenese religious texts. The latter may seem odd once someone actually sees the bunk's occupant. Astraea (and Alain above her) are nearest the door on one side of the bunk hall. The woman herself is lounging in a Colonial Fleet tee and a pair of shorts. Her dusky skin bears numerous scars (a mix of burn and shrapnel; indicative of a crash... or two), but also a host of Scorpian-style tattoos with their sharp, black edges.

Propped across her legs is a sketchbook where she seems to be working on a design for another such tattoo. Her hair is in braids- either 'still' or in preparation for a later shift or mission. She looks up as someone passes and it turns from a brief glance to a longer spate of scrutiny as it's proven to be someone new. She doesn't say anything for the moment, she just watches.

Well, at least he's not rude. There's a bit of a smile and a nod offered to the off-duty woman though he doesn't seem keen to interrupt whatever she's doing, at least not yet. Silvas is still taking in his surroundings for another few moments before he makes his way over to that empty bunk, next to the one the only other person currently awake in the room is sitting in. He drops his rucksack right in front of the bunk, turns around, and sits down with a heavy thump into the not so cushy mattress. It's a ceremony of claiming. This is his now, at least for a while.

"You'd really think these ships would have a little more leg room than our older colonial ones." He snorts and rapps a knuckle against one of the bunkwalls. His accent is glaringly Canceron, with no effort made to smooth it over even a bit, and now that he is talking, it doesn't seem he'll stop any time soon. "It really is almost identical." He shakes his head and leans forward, resting his elbows across his knees, a small laugh escaping his throat.

Speaking of new arrivals, the other recent (rather pudgier) invader of Bunk A comes through the door in a bit of a tripping rush. Tripping because he's literally hopping on one leg through the door, in process of thrusting a meaty leg into flight suit. A task not helped the least by his attempt to juggle a tremendously over-stuffed meat on cheese on more meat sort of sandwich hand to hand while struggling into his gear. And by way he's rushing, you'd think the ship was on high alert, but it seems instead Pieter "Pudge" Raines is just running late for duty, a thing that may have happened already a few times his first week as he's adjusted to the rotation. Either way, juggling sandwich gets tucked into his jaws by some miracle of biphysical mandibular hinging as he's making his way in towards his bunk, trying to tuck an arm into suit, upnodding to the pair gathered with a muffled, food-mumbled greeting-sound that might have been "Hey there!" but came out more "Eythegh!" Pie, king of first impressions.

"This one's got more room than th' Vanguard did," Astraea says, voice mildly muffled by the fact that she's already gone back to her sketchbook. "Dunno if it gets better'n that. They're th' only two ships I've served on." Her accent is very much Scorpian. And not just Scorpian, but 'grew up in the slums' Scorpian. Intelligent, but with that lazy drawl. She talks in a reserved, distant tone on top of that. There's a sudden look up at the out-of-sync thudding on the deck plating and the pilot just blinks at Pudge a few times.

"Did somethin' happen?" She looks up with a frown towards where the shipwide alert system would have gone off. "I didn't hear anythin'..." Clearly concerned by his rush, even as she starts setting aside her sketchbook to roll to her feet.

First impressions indeed. Silvas is already working at the clasp keeping his bag shut to start unpacking and in comes, well, not a person he would really expect. He regards the man, lips flattening a bit in an effort not to smile or chuckle at the man's antics. Though it doesn't entirely keep away from his eyes, crinkling slightly at the corners. At least he's amused rather than disapproving.

"Identical to my last posting." He wiggles a finger in a circle pointed upwards as he indicates the ship. "Newer and more polished, but the same."

"Alonso Silvas." He offers to the two, leaving formality out of it for the moment, he's technically off duty even if he's in full uniform. "Everyone just calls me Silvas though." He gives a little 'who knows' shrug. The first thing he plucks ou of his bag is carefully wrapped up in what looks like a shirt, and he sets the bundle in his lap, carefully and gingerly opening it.

Pudge pauses in his struggle to get suited long enough to cast a comically confused, eybrow-arched, sandwich-faced interrogative sort of look, complete with muffled "Huh?" to Astraea's concern. Understanding's quick to land there though on his bearded, apple-round face and he finishes sliding arm into sleeve to reach up and pull free the food from mouth and explain in laughing, easy tones laced lightly with Picon and Caprican air. "Ah! Sorry, Nov, nothin' like that! I'm just runnin' late for a CAP in a half hour!" Why he's in this much of a rush for that far off isn't clear, but with it said, he's turning to his bunk, slipping his bulk past Silvas with an amicable grin, then pausing with dilemma of what to do with the sandwich again. "Here man, hold this a sec, will ya?" is offered out along with outthrust meaty concoction apparently for Silvas to take. Whether it's taken or refused (resulting in it being set on the pristine top bunk temporarily, which Alain would LOVE), Pie's crawling face-first, and one flightsuit-arm dangling, into his bunk to start digging around, shapely (as in the shape of lumps) arse wiggling about as he's digging about for something in his not so well-organized chaos.

"Pleasure, Silv. Pieter Raines. Most call me Pudge or Pie. New ECO as of this week." Apparently Pieter's assuming Silvas is one of the bunkies he hadn't met yet and has been around longer than him. "Ah, got it!" he proclaims, pulling his bulk out of the bunk space with a little gold coin in hand that he gives a quick kiss and slips into his flight suit before moving to get other arm in as he explains. "AnyWAYS, it'll take at least ten minutes of Walsh chewin' me out for wanting to re-run operation specs on the ECM console, fifteen to get it tuned right, and then I need at least five to enjoy my first dinner! So...like I said, late!" By some second miracle of physics, the big boy's managing to suck in his round gut enough to zip up his flight suit after that before reaching for his meatzilla of a sandwich from wherever it ended up.

"Astraea Masters," the Scorpian woman provides even as she starts to sit back down. "Most call me Nova, though. We're a pretty call sign-focused unit." She almost never hears her surname these days. The sketchbook is picked up and a line added onto in a rough sketch. More tattoo sketching. At least she's not working on that other thing anymore. Though that rarely happens when other people are around. She shakes her head slightly at Pieter, sinking back into place. "Silvas here is new, too," she pipes up. "Don't ruin th' deck crew for him."

Silvas doesn't know what to do what handed a partially eaten sandwich, but for some reason ends up holding it anyway, looking at the thing sideways. No, he does not know why he took it, and he realizes this is a strange situation, but at the moment has no diplomatic way of correcting it. "Well, Jackrabbit works, too." It's an almost too obvious callsign. Lean, a little twitchy. "Academy nickname that just happened to stick and no one's found one better. Just arrived today, I guess you're no longer the newest ECO."

He's only too happy to relinquish possession of meatzilla when Pie turns to reclaim it, giving another of those trying not to laugh out loud moments. "Nova and.. Pudge?" He tries not to sound bothered by calling the man by well, what sounds like a mean childhood nickname, he doesn't do a good job hiding it in his voice though.

Irene strolls in from parts unknown, but, given that her hair is done up in a towel and she's in Wolves issue sweats, it was probably the showers, and before or after, the canteen. Why the latter? Because she has mail and is drinking a malted milk concoction from a tall can that only a true blue Virgon could possibly enjoy. It's probably like boiled potato custard flavor, if the label is any indication at all, it's that or rampant unicorn blood. Or, Unicorn is the brand. She sips at the drink via bendy straw and wanders with purpose, somehow managing to avoid furniture and personnel despite having her nose in the letter she's holding out. Must be fascinating. She nearly turns her shin into a full length bruise on the edge of the table in the common area, but the bump merely illicits a dreamy frown and a detour from the blonde.

Pieter gets a kind of odd look at Astraea's name, head a little canted, eyes going distant, little squinted up, something having tickled his memory. He shakes it off for the moment though to grin over to Silvas the temporary sandwich protector, nodding an enthusiastic ease at the callsign for him, mean or not (though certainly accurate and clearly one that doesn't bug him too terribly). A fist is extended out for dapping with the grin turning wry. "GIB for life, Jackrabbit. Welcome." Guy in Back. Slang for ECO. Whether he explodes the fist or just leaves the poor new guy bemused and staring, Pie's going on to glance up to Irene's distraction with his own slight bemusement at her state, starting to call out. "Hey blondie, watch the..." But she's hitting table before his warning hits and luckily just detouring, leaving him to laugh and aside to Nova and Jackrabbit. "Shit, if I did that while reading, I'd be ass over tea kettle by now!"

Already bent back over her sketchbook, Astraea doesn't notice the look that Pieter gives her. She's too busy working on that new addition to the tattoo design. Erasing, redrawing, darkening lines once she's happy with the sketched section. There's a grunt of acknowledgement for Silvas' repeat of her callsign, but nothing else. She does, however, finally look over at the warning Pudge issues out the open hatch for their hall off the lounge area, caching sight of Irene. There's a brief shrug as she turns back. "Mebbe us pilots are just better at seen' everythin'-" beat and another glance back out there. "Well, mebbe not all of us."

Silvas may be many things, rude is not one of them. He's not about to leave a poor guy hanging. There is a moment where his eyes go between Pie and the extended fist before he dutifully exchanges a fistbump with the man. No blowing up though, he has his limits. He goes back towards unwrapping his bundle, looking up again as he hears the impact of leg on furniture, his own frown forming at the woman. Though it must not be bad the way she's reacting, he's still grimacing though. "Intersting group, at least." He finishes unwrapping the idol of Athena, setting it on the shelf above the head of his bed.

It's probably not the first, nor last time Irene has been called blondie, so she finally looks up from the paper. It's a complete 'what happened? Did something explode? Is it gross? Is it on me?' succession of expressions the pilot emotes through as she peers in the berthing where the warning came from, then back behind her. Seeing no carnage and destruction in her wake, she seems to decide that it was some other blonde. Somewhere. She's good. She's even smiling now, more so when she sees a familiar Astraea, "Nova. Look!" At what?! The letter, or rather, a photo that she has pinned to it with her thumb. She turns it out so it can be seen by the other pilot, and the ECOs too if they're at all curious, "It's my older brother!"

It's hard to say why Astraea would find that particularly exciting, but Irene is not to be deterred. The photograph is at least mildly amusing. The guy that looks like a meaner, male version of her is in a Virgon Royal Navy marine uniform with about five other with a cookfire in the center of the circle. Naturally, they're making a pot of tea and eating out of ration cans. Joining them is a Cylon they've obviously destroyed and made up like a farmer with a straw hat and overalls they must have pulled off a scarecrow.

"Heh. Somethin' like that." Pie's quipping back to Astraea in teasing tone that implies disbelief in pilot's all-seeing powers, his jewel-bright eyes for the moment though following Irene's distracted wander with some amusement and interest. He makes a little headshaking "Mmm." sound. Whether that was appreciation for the blonde woman or her milkshake isn't at all clear, and given its Pudge, even less so, but either way he's glancing again to the clock and sighing. "Gonna have to try an' cut Walsh's lecture down giving her the puppy dog eyes!" Yeah, cause that'll work! "Anyways, yeah, seems like a good crew. Some great fliers and solid gunners. Look forward to seeing what you got, Jack. For now though, catcha around eh?" With that, the exuberrant ECO is making his way towards the exit quickly, passing Nova and trying to catch a glance of her current work as he grunts a neanderthal goodbye her way. He pauses long enough to glance over Irene's shoulder to catch a look at her picture, or maybe a final glance at her milkshake, and then offers a "Huh, good lookin' guy." And with that, he's off again. Juuust as he's about to slip his bulk out the door though, he freezes and declares as if in revelation. "Ah! Hyacinthe!" The revelation may have something to do with Astraea, given he's glancing back her way...or more specifically her visible tattoos way before giving a little surprised "Huh!". After which, he's turning to go without any explanation.

"Your brother?" Astraea frowns, trying to wrack her memory for any other times the Virgan pilot had mentioned family. She's unsuccessful, features going somewhat blank as she looks at the photo. "Looks like they're havin' fun." It's about the best she can summon up and any further attempts are wholly stymied by the word -- Hyacinthe -- that Pieter calls back on his way out. The woman freezes in place, staring after him. Her hand tightens around the edge of the sketchbook, marginally, and it's a long moment before she takes a slow breath and sinks a bit further into her bunk, looking down to the sketch she's been working on.

Silvas just watches the retreating Pie with that same bewildered expression he's had on and off since the man entered the room. "Very interesting crew." He goes back to unpacking, now working on getting clothing out of the bag and tucked away, refolding a few garments as necessary. He does take a moment to look at the picture though, no harm in knowing a little about his new squadmates. "Did they dress...?" He doesn't even finish the question, snorting a soft laugh and yet another shake of his head. At this rate, it's going to pop right off his neck. "That on Virgon?"

Well, Astraea seems to lose interest pretty fast, so Irene just nods to confirm. "Jamie. I mean, Captain James Harris, Royal Marines." She slowly and neatly shifts to Silvas and despite not knowing him at all, she holds the photo up and nods, pleased as punch, "It is, He's been in country for months. Most of the Cylons on Virgon were for agriculture so the Marines have been sweeping the farmlands. It says..." She has to find the place in the letter, then reads aloud, "Um... found a new friend in Deringshire. The boys felt quite bad after a miserable week of relentless rain so the sergeant found a mascot. We've named him Tom Baddingsly and he's been a big hit with the squad..." She pauses a beat, waves the rest off, "Anyway, he goes on. Sounds like they've been making slow but steady progress. And, hi."

It's perhaps a bit less loss of interest and more outside forces serving to make the pilot retreat into herself for a bit. Astraea doesn't even return to her sketching; she just stares down at the page. There's a tilt of the Scorpian woman's head to listen, even if she doesn't lean out or strive to actively socialize. This, however, has been largely standard for Nova since she was rescued. Returning to her old, loud, and firey self seems to be a very slow, uphill battle indeed.

"Hi. Alonso Silvas, Jackrabbit." He lifts a hand in greating before placing a few more bits and pieces of clothing away. Underwear, on display for the women, salacious. "Sounds like everywhere. Slow and steady." He shucks out of his jacket, folding it up neatly and adding it off to the side from the rest of the clothing he's tucked away. "Well, any where the fighting is going well anyway." He sighs softly. "Well, same amount of leg room but maybe the food on this ship will at least be better." He even manages to shound hopeful, looking between Astraea and Irene, then wrinkles his nose. "Probably not." Then out of left field. "What're you drawing?"

Irene reads a sentence or two further past what she's quoted, but otherwise splits her attention between Silvas and Nova. The former's introduction is returned in kind, "Irene Harris, Iris. The food is okay here." She assures him while watching him stow his clothing. There's not a ton of interest, just passing curiosity. No point in getting too excited over underwear, since there's usually no shortage of people wandering around in their knickers or less. "Where were you assigned last?" She wonders, but she's happy to leave the question hanging to sip at her Unicorn blood and look to the left field, Nova's got the ball now.

"Th' canteen can fill in where th' mess doesn't, if ya get cravin's for specific stuff." Astraea doesn't look up, but provides the information nonetheless. When Silvas speaks up in regards to her drawing, she hesitates a bit. The woman looks down to the sketchbook and purses her lips a bit. She finally lifts and turns it so it can be seen. To those who don't 'read' Scorpian tattoos, it's sharp-edged lines. In the 'tribal' sort of sense. There may be a pattern or greater design there, but it's still coming to life. "Workin' on my next tattoo," she explains, sounding a touch awkward as she does so. "Just... havin' a hard time of it, I guess. This one ain't comin' easy."

"The Persephone, Jouster squadron, basically just orbitted Canceron so we could move troops around where they were needed. Some air combat. Moreso after Edson.." Silvas rubs the back of his neck looking downcast for a moment. "Requested a transfer to Colonial Forces. Figures I'd end up back over Sagittaron." He reaches down into his rapidly diminishing duffle bag to pulls out some photos, "Need to get some tape." He sets the stack on a shelf for later. He looks at the drawing, tilting his head this way and that. It's obvious that no, he can't read it. "What's it mean, if that's not too nosy."

Irene definitely is not literate in Scorpion tattoo-ese. She looks at the work in progress with a pleasantly polite sort of blankness. Given that it's Irene, she tries to be helpful anyway, suggesting, "I would maybe put a lion in it." To illustrate how that might look she turns to give Astraea her profile and lifts her hands so that she looks vaguely like a heraldic lion clawing the air. Rawh. Classic Virgon, that. She can't really do finger claws though, since she's still trying to hold the mail and her drink. She eventually directs the end of the bendy straw to her mouth and has another sip. "Oh, Canceron. I still have some shrapnel from there. Welcome aboard."

"It's... uh-" Astraea looks between the two of them and quickly closes up the sketchbook, shoving it into one of the pockets within her bunk. The pencils are tucked into their roll. "Just... for somethin' that happened." She starts grabbing things from her locker. Flightsuit, gloves, boots... "I, uh, got Alert. I'll- I'll see y'all, yeah?" And then she's fleeing from the room.

"Huh." Silvas scratches at his temple as he watches Astraea go into a quick retreat from the room. "Note to self, don't ask that again." He turns back to Irene with a nod. "Thanks, hope I'll be at least a little help out there." A few last items mostly books are removed from the pack and placed on the shelves, leaving the pack itself empty and ready to be tucked away. He takes one look aroound his little bunk and nods. "There, all moved in." Though his eyes drift between the bunk on either side of him, some unreadable expression passing over his face. "Home sweet home."

The lion thing was a bad idea. Irene would probably concede that if pressed, but she's not so simply lifts her drink to silently toast the quickly departing raptor driver. There's a goodbye too, but a not very audible one. After she's left and Iris has had time to ponder whatever it is she needed to ponder, she distractedly looks back to Silvas and smiles. "We're mostly a friendly bunch. Even the marines... usually. I'm in C, if you need anything." There's a vague gesture towards the section she speaks of, beyond the bulkhead somewhere. She starts to wander after that, as if she's going to go to her proper, assigned place.

"Good to meet you, look forward to flying with you sometime." Silvas shifts in his new bunk, pulling his legs up inside and leaning back against the wall. He lets his eyes slide shut for the moment and just seems to daze out for a while. Then sighs and gets up, probably to go exploring himself and figure out where everything is on the ship.


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