2237-11-14 - The Tale Of The Taste-Tester And Tart-Maker

Eva takes Alain on an unplanned trip during shore leave. Also featuring self-congratulatory drum beats and alternative career-crafting.

Date: 2237-11-14

Location: Argentum, Scorpia

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 1570

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It all began in a most innocuous fashion. A brief conversation in the berthings, at the end of which, two seats were booked on one of the raptors, and a small duffel, one a piece included, just in case of emergencies. This was, of course, supposed to be a day trip, though the female of the Captains had not been given to too many specifics, when she invited the, still newly minted, male Captain to join her. Indeed, Eva's been rather less than forthcoming, though perhaps she's earned Alain's trust. For now, she's content to wait for the shuttle to touch down at the bay, rather than the more direct shot that would take them to the shipyards.

Generally speaking, Alain's not one of those people that prefers spontaneous, unplanned trips to mysterious destinations. But he's trying, for Eva's sake, although his discomfort can perhaps be read in the way his glance keeps darting around to the pilot at his side and their surroundings, the faint shift of lips as if in silent prayer while they're traveling, and finally an exhale of breath. "A hint, at least," he finally says.

And precisely for that reason, it tends to be nearly impossible to convince Alain to agree to spontaneous, unplanned trips to mysterious destinations. Still, at least the woman does not look like there's murder on her mind, though she does check the time multiple times as the shuttle seems to be taking longer than anticipated. If it's any consolation, the shuttle seems to put them down in a rather lively area of the Bay, the landing pad one that has been in regular use, if the line of people queuing up for their shuttle to arrive is any indication, "It's something you'd never be able to get on the Dauntless." As soon as they alight from the shuttle, Eva picking up Alain's bag as well, she starts off down the strip, heading towards one building in particular, that looks as though it is all about old records.

Reaching for his duffel, Alain looks equally nonplussed as Eva takes it. He shifts his shoulders in a roll, letting the other Captain precede him as he gives her a wry look. "That could cover everything from decent coffee, to a great surfing venue. No offense to the Dauntless," in case she's listening. "Rumor has it we're shipping out shortly. You trying to stock up on cooking tips before we go?" he's asking, only belatedly glancing at the building they seem to be heading towards, brow furrowed.

"You forget that I grew up country, Alain. if there's one thing I know how to do, it's cook. Though I rarely have the time or opportunity to do so, haven't really, since I used to have the run of the galley on the Galactica." She glances over at the man, offering a bright, though not quite guileless smile. "Trust me. When have I ever let you down?" The record store does indeed turn out to be their destination, though Eva quickly makes her way towards the stairs which seem to lead up to a second story, bypassing the records themselves completely. Once they do arrive on the second floor, the place seems to have been converted to what appear to be studio space and recording booths. "I'd been thinking, for a while, that I wanted to get you something unexpected. Not for your birthday or anything like that, just...because. I've had it booked for a while, but we never seemed to get back to Scorpia."

"Which is why that was a wholly unfair contest. Unless the contest was that we have to each other's cooking, in which case... I'd be totally down," Alain's observing with a brief grin. His rueful, expressive wave of hand indicates she should continue in her leading of this adventure, his qualms aside -- he is looking more interested -- curious, really -- as she leads him inside the record store. He slows briefly, lengthening his steps to keep up when she climbs the stairs. "Booked?" he echoes, glancing from the recording booths back to her, "For what?"

"Well, yes, but you never have to force me into a contest to get me to cook for you. Just let me know what you're in the mood for and give me a chance to try to scrounge it up." Once they're on the second floor, she makes her way over towards a kiosk that seems to be designed for reservations, and she keys in a couple of codes. There are people moving in and through the rooms, but they seem mostly to be about their own business. Once the machine spits out a ticket, Eva begins to make her way towards a room down at the far left of the space, pausing once she gets there and holding the ticket out to Alain. There's clear glass making up most of the wall, so he can see in. Inside is a fully tricked out drum kit, in the rear, micced and ready for recording, and a small studio to do just that just on the other side of the door. "I can stay out here, if you prefer."

"I seem to have bad luck with bets," Alain confesses, with a brief grin. He goes silent, just watching as Eva collects the ticket, following her through into the room, turning about slowly with a furrowed brow -- belatedly taking the ticket once he realizes Eva's offering it to him. "Uh," it takes him a moment -- a beat, if you will -- to determine her meaning, before he shakes his head. "No, stay. I'm just... this isn't what I expected, that's all." He cuts a glance to the drum kit, and smiling, adds, "Thanks."

"Yeah, I tend not to make them. They never seem to go the way I think they're going to go." There's a thoughtful expression on her face as she takes in the room, and Alain's response to it. "It was a much better idea in my head, wasn't it??" A quick inhale, "Well, not all of my ideas are going to be winners, and you don't need to use the time if you don't want to. I just thought..." A beat, "Though...what did you think I was booking for you, a Canceron massage?"

"I suppose that's half the appeal," Alain says with the acceptance of a man who's used to being on the losing end, and doesn't so much seem to mind. "No, it's a... it's just not anything I ever thought of doing," he admits, with another glance at the drum kit. "But I'm keen to give it a go. So long as you don't laugh at my playing." He gives a somewhat pained look at that last, and with a laugh, admits: "Cooking classes."

"Is it? Perhaps if you're willing to take risks. I suppose I'm not brave enough for that." As odd of a statement as that must sound, coming from the woman, she seems to bespeaking honestly. "Why would I? I know you enjoy it, well, I thought you enjoyed it, and I hadn't known you to ever have the chance to actually play." Eva, for a wonder actually looks a bit uncertain, but she doesn't, at least, step away, instead opening the door to allow Alain to step inside.

Alain gives Eva a surprised look. "I think you underestimate yourself by a vast amount, Eva Thorne," he says, with a sober seriousness. "I.. haven't, really. Maybe in a life where the cylons didn't..." he doesn't finish that thought. Instead, he steps through into the room with the drum kit, picking the sticks up off the seat, before he settles himself. There's a moment of hesitation, before he drums out a simple beat on the snare drum, head tipped to one side as he listens to the reverberations, before he shifts his posture on the seat, so that he can settle a foot over the peddles, adding the bass drum to beat. He's never had a real kit to play, so it's more sounding-out than anything amazing, working to incorporate the hi-hat and cymbals after a bit.

<FS3> Alain rolls Reflexes+2: Success (8 7 4 3 3 3 2 1)

"No, I think I've lived in my own skin long enough to know my limits. And have been taken to task when I've attempted to step outside of them." Once Alain's in the room, Eva follows suit, allowing the door to close behind her. She makes no move to approach the recording equipment, though, in all honesty, she'd best hope there's just a 'set it and forget it' switch or something similar. "I think we all had ideas that we had to abandon for the cylons." Once he's settled himself at the kit, Eva settles herself at a stool on the opposite side of the room, watching the other pilot get a feel for the equipment at his own pace, "Would you like me to teach you how to cook?"

He's not fantastic, let's face it. But he seems to have the basics of a rhythm, and he experiments a little bit as he gets a bit more comfortable, always keeping that underlying beat going, head bopping as if keeping time with his entire body. "I... think I'll take advice from a wise woman, and allow that I know my own limits when it comes to cooking. Thanks, though," he says, with a genuine grin, punctuating the words with a crash of the cymbal, grin widening. "I could see you as a baker, actually. Making those fancy cupcakes, and wedding cakes and whatnot."

Eva seems happy just to have a chance to watch Alain seeming to enjoy himself. As if the being good or bad wasn't the point, only...having the experience. "Well, you can just fill in as my courtly food taster. You now, some of the houses on Virgon still have them, so it is completely a legitimate career path. You know, if this whole pilot things ends up not panning out." An answering laugh, at Alain's picture of her, "Tarty tarts. Those were my specialty. Any sort of fruit tarts you can imagine. Big ones, small ones, crustless, hand pies. They were my particular domain. Even the savoury ones. I used to make them for my Da when he went to work."

"Knowing my luck, I'd get the one house with actual enemies," Alain laughs, as he thunders out a few bass beats as if to emphasize his inevitable doom. And then, with a groan, "I see what you did there -- panning out. You're flour-ndering around for puns there, Eva." It's probably not that funny, but it helps when you can give yourself your own ba-dum-TSSSH at the punchline. "Tarts... wait, really?" he reaches out a hand to still the cymbal, leaning forward, surprised. "I didn't know that. Just for fun, or...?"

Eva's hand rises, making a dismissive gesture, though her eyes are merry, "Oh, don't worry. They don't just let you die nowadays. Could you imagine the difficulty they'd have finding people to fill that job? I'm sure they'd provide you a medic on standby." See? Totally legitimate, "Alas, sometimes I do let the good lines bake a bit too long before I pull them out." The surprise catches her, of a wonder by surprise, "Well, for fun, partly. We had a goodly number of fruit trees growing around where I grew up, but also because they were easier to pack for meals when the men went off to the mines. The handpies especially were a favourite, because they could just eat them right out of the wrappers and they didn't need utensils. I used to make one that was meat and veg on one side and fruit on the other. Lunch and dessert." A glance to the cymbal, as he holds out a hand to still the ringing, "Are you a fan?"

Straightening, Alain rests hands -- still holding the sticks -- on his thighs. "My own personal medic to spare me from poisoning. How could I refuse such a generous offer," he says, with a chuckle. He's listening closely when she describes the food she used to prepare; it makes him smile, almost like he's imagining it. "It's funny, isn't it, how much we pull the things from our past along with us. You do much the same for the pilots, except it's when they get ace, rather than as a farewell to the mines." After she asks if he's a fan, he's answer is an immediate, "Of food? Always," with a laughing grin.

"Well, to be fair, this wouldn't be at some fancy Virgon estate house. My Da still lives in the same house he's lived in all my life, and we don't have servant's quarters, so you'd have to make up a bed in the attic. But, I promise that there'd be plenty of food to taste. And I do remember my medic training." Totally ghetto fabulous and all. "Yes. Because we often need the comfort of the familiar in a time when it seems as if nothing will be right in the world again." A shake of her head, the woman laughing herself, "No, I meant of tarts."

"I'm a fan of tarts, too," Alain promises. "I try not to be biased when it comes to food. Learned that pretty quickly in the marines." There's no endorsement from his drums this time, but instead a flowing beat almost but not quite resembles some of the music he's apt to listen to in the cockpit pre-engagement. "And I'm fine with an attic -- it sounds like quite a trade, actually." He's smiling at the thought of it, even make-believe as it is.

"I am not even going to try to picture why you even need to say such a thing, Alain Tomlinson. Quite possibly...some of the things you learned as a Marine need to stay in the Marines." A smile, at that, which deepens as she turns her attention to his playing, which seems to be becoming more confident as he's gone on. "Good. because you know you'd be welcome." And for a moment, there's something serious, underpinning that smile, "I've never pried into your life, nor tried to push you to tell me more than you were comfortable with. But just...if you ever need a home away from home, my old Da would never say no to good company."

He flashes her a smile of what seems to be agreement on her assessment of marine-things-staying marine. "I guess I'm lucky. My home is always going to be my home, even if my father will probably always be uncomfortable with what I chose. But... thanks, Eva. The offer means a great deal to me," Alain says, with a smile. "Okay, I'm going to try this drum bit, and it's probably going to sound awful... just try and make it sound decent in the retelling, huh?" and then he's lifting his sticks for another go at the kit.

"I think parents always feel a bit uncomfortable with our life choices, even when we make the ones they think they wanted us to make. But it does my heart good to know that he's there for you." Too well they both know that some people, a good number of the people in the Wolves do not have that sort of luxury. "I have no idea what in the world you're talking about, Alain. We came here and you were magnificent from start to finish." There's a twinkle in her eye and a bit of cheek, as she lifts her hands, pantomiming preparing to plug her ears with her fingers. "Play away, my friend, play away."


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